The Seeker's Path
by Ashleg
Summary: A summmary is in the preface. Please give it a shot! R&R Note: Prologue and the first seven chapters have been slightly altered and edited. Chapter Nine finally upsorry for the wait!
1. Preface and Prologue

The Seeker's Path

PREFACE

Ok, I started this novel in the fall of 2004 and worked on it in my free time with only the criticisms and comments of my friend (who moved to Arizona) to keep me going. Every time I finished a chapter I sent it to him by email. A lot of times I have almost given up on this story, and have not worked on it for months. But now that I've finally gotten an account at this site (I actually first discovered it in 2003-surprising isn't it) I've decided to get to work on this story again and post it up. There's only a little problem. When I originally wrote this it was with human characters (though it was in the Medieval Ages with the same technology as Redwall). So now I need to "Redwallize" the story, which normally wouldn't be that hard since, I would just have to choose species for my humans. However, I will also have to introduce the geography, like Mossflower, Salamandastron, Redwall, etc.

Well with that explanation, you can tell that revising each chapter will take a lot of time, sine I will keep little of my original work (what I will keep will mostly be some description of the landscape and some dialogue). Also, I have just moved into a new house. I moved on the May 15th and I have not been able to access the computer till about two weeks later. And the time between my updates may be lengthy, since "Redwallizing" the chapters will be almost as hard as it was writing them in the first place.

Some things you should be aware of: I basically suck at accents and most of my characters will have terrible accents. I can't seem to piece together a pattern of missing or added letters in a character's speech. For example: one character might be missing a 't' in one word and then have and added 'g' in another word with a 't' that isn't missing (maybe I've lost you). I will also usually centsor a few letters in my swearwords, because that's just me. Also this has been rated "T" because of some sensuality, sequences of marathon violence, and some crude dialogue.

Well about the title. I went through a lot of titles, because I basically suck at titles. In fact, you'll only discover why this novel is called "The Seeker's Path" in the eight, ninth, or tenth chapter (I know I'm just sad). Also I was planning this to be the first story in a trilogy, but I'll have to finish this novel before I think about. Also a few other notes: the prologue takes place a few seasons before the actual story. And this novel might take up a lot of chapters since I usually have trouble makings ends meet in the ending. Lastly, before I give a summary, I would like to tell you that I will be using titles for every chapter and roman numerals for each chapter.

Synopsis: A group of survivors from a catastrophe band together to stop an evil female mink and her ferret warlord consort from bringing the land into chaos. Meanwhile two mighty armies wrest at each other's throat to control the entire realm of goodbeasts and vermin alike, but love sprouts between two squirrels from different sides and tragedies arise.

Well that's all for the preface. I know it was boring but I had to get some things straight. And for a side note, in my opinion, the prologue is one of my worst chapters. Anyways, _adios _until next time.

PROLOGUE 

Inclement weather was the daily forecast at the series of rising snow-covered slopes in the wintry lands. A frigid wind clouded the west and trees quailed against the winter's wrath. Branches rattled as the blizzard fought on. Cream-hued snowflakes splattered against the barren landscape, leaving smudges that would soon dissipate. A lonely figure crept over the once rich land now dispersed under inches of snow. The figure was hunched up on all fours, cruel winds torturing his frostbitten limbs and specks of ice stabbing at his body. He gave a gasp of satisfaction that soon turned into a pout of steam mingling with the natural coldness, upon reaching his destination.

A cowl that was loosely draped around the figure's shoulders was blown off by an exceptionally strong gust, revealing the seasoned body of a hoary ferret. The face features were determined and set in a grim line, as the ferret reached a set of frost-covered boulders that formed a circle around a band of robed beasts.

Malik stumbled and fell, but then stood up again. Around the circle of stones trees creaked in harmony with the wind as branchescapsized downwardswith icicles. The din they were making was enough to disguise the sound of snow crunching under Malik's boot to the members of the camp laid out before him. Malik rubbed circulation back in his paining legs cursing at the sight of the beats that had ruined his life permanently.

The cloaked marten with the albino fur and dense, curling lockets that hung from his skeletal body stepped into view, his veil flourishing in a draft behind him. He might have once been attractive but the seasons had taken their toll upon him, and the golden-rimmed turquoise orbs that served as his eyes would freak just about anybody out of their fur. The name he went by was Naze Arron and he was the crop of Malik's long quest, the whoreson who had murdered Malik's family. Malik raptly fingered his godendag ( a weapon with a relatively short axe blade with a spear point at the top and a back spike), his eyes burning with an intensified odium. It also blazed a path of hatred to Arron's crime partner-Henrick a revoltingly obese stoat with disgusting hives and tick bites. The two criminals that had destroyed Malik's family-killed his parents and raped his sister.

Malik gave the call of a raven and he got the shriek of an eagle in response. His friend, Devnam, who had accompanied him on his quest, was ready to start the attack on the vermin band below. _Time to hit the road,_ thought Malik grimly. Taking out some tinder, flint, and some rotting wood, he quickly had a fire going, which he placed on top of the rocks. Ducking underneath the rocks he went into a noiseless run and leaped upon a large hill covered in snow. The fire distracted those idiots below like he had predicted. He clambered upon the peak of the mini mountain piling up snow in a heap. Was it really too much hope to not be noticed? He would soon find out.

Indeed he would.

xxx

Devnam sat against the colossal tree trunk sharpening his scimitar. He guessed it was now about as sharp as a diamond. He must have stayed ages here rubbing away at the curved weapon with a circular, disk-like chip of obsidian stone.

He knew he had the jitters before a battle. He'd been in a scrape or two when he had been a barkeeper's assistant and Malik's quest had thrown them into perilous skirmishes. So why was he very, very nervous to the point he was jumping at his shadow and pulling his sword out at the crackling of leaves under his boots?

Because this was the most important battle of it all. The highlight of his life. But that wasn't saying much as-

Peering through he branches of the gargantuan oak, he sighted the flickering, scarlet flames. Devnam smiled grimly. Time to get things heating. In a minute or three Naze Arron and his minions would be heading this way.

He left his footprints uncovered on purpose. It would confuse Arron and the others while he could make his assault go properly. He scurried into the trees like a squirrel. He laid his weapons on a sturdy limb and took a deep breath. He could hold in until Malik arrived. He could. He had to. For his sake.

Things were, indeed heating up.

xxx

Malik cursed foully. What the #$ was wrong? The plan was falling around his ears. Instead of causing an avalanche that was supposed to bury most of the villains under its mass, he was making misshaped snowballs fall down his sides! If not for his seasoned self-control he would have burst out crying in frustration!

While he had been beating himself up in frustration the idiots below were moving away, no longer distracted by the "bonfire". They were moving towards the grove of trees in which Devnam was hidden. Malik listened, frozen as Devnam's surprised shriek sounded from the direction. Malik shook himself out of the trance. Because he had ruined the plan didn't mean Devnam had to die… He took a running leap and slid down the slope on his belly.

xxx

Devman knew he should have been warned by the avalanche sound. But there was no avalanche and there was no sound. So something was wrong. But what? Unfortunately he didn't have time to figure it out. The fruit of his quest had arrived. But he would have to see if he could harvest it.

xxx

Malik felt the wind whistle around his clothes as he did a somersault and was catapulted into a snow heap. Lovely. Hurriedly he picked himself up and ran raggedly across the trampled snow. Cold breath misted his face. He entered the grove where he would face his destiny.


	2. Chapter I

CHAPTER I: SHADOW OF THE RAVEN

Author's note: This is the beginning chapter and the prologue is a sort of story told by Devnam, which continues in the first chapter (you'll see what I mean). Also, in my original work, the opening took place in a desert colony of people, but since this is supposed to be Redwall fanfiction, I changed it to the fire mountain of Salamandastron. Well, that's enough of that, on with the story.

xxx

A swelling wave, foam spurting, crashed against the decollating beach, rearranging it in a flat landscape. Citrine-colored water swirled in shallow, eroded trenches. North and south, west and east, as far as the eye could see, configurations of sandy hillocks sprouted from the ecru-hued arid region. Sand dunes rolled in a continuous, asymmetrical pattern. There were scarce signs of life in this barren landscape. A striped lizard poked its head from underneath a dead, dried shrub and an azure dragonfly buzzed around the dead cadaver of a rotting trout washed ashore and being set on by bloodthirsty mosquitoes.

In the middle of all this desolation and loneliness, rose a great chunk of sedimented stone, seemingly spearing the puffy, silver lined clouds floating in the sky. Near the entrance of the great mountain, the extinct volcano dubbed Salamandastron, were ample signs of life and activity, differing from the rest of the desert. In the middle of a ring of hares, young and old, male and female, fit and fat, lay a wizened, old squirrel seated on a mound of fine sand. From his audience's apprehension, he seemed to be in the middle of a story.

"Get on with it m'laddo, me old pater…whatcha waitin' for," yelled one of the audience.

The old squirrel glared at him-"You know this is hard for me," he stammered feebly.

"Ah, get one with it, Devnam ya old fogey," retaliated a listening mother hare. "I'm interest what happens next, too, you know."

Devnam was left with no choice but to start anew…"Malik ran through the band of trees, looming silhouettes casting shadows over the dense shrubbery and foliage. Weak sunlight filtered through the canopy and arboreal vendance, pools of green and gold illuminating the shadows, partly. Through these Malik ran, haunches bunched up in exertion, oxygen filtering into his lungs in short and painful gasps. Cloth ripped on thorny brambles as Malik stumbled toward the clash of weapons, cursing. The goal of his quest had arrived and he wasn't in physical shape to achieve it.

"Meanwhile up in the tree, I watched the group of villains studying the footprints I had left and I was calculating my move for the right time. My acute hearing had picked up Malik's movement but the footprints distracted the villains. I decided the time was ripe for action. I grabbed a vine, and yelling at the top of my voice, I swung myself in Naze Arron's direction, scimitar pointed at his evil heart. The villain heard me and ducking expertly he avoided the scimitar and me. In a blur of steel he drew a scythe and in a whir of curved expertise, he slashed the vine. I ricocheted in a weasel with a ribbon of teeth for a mouth, I dully identified as Amberkan.

"At that moment Malik came streaking in his teeth bared in vengeance, his godendag whirling in a crescent shape. He beheaded the subsequent member with a swipe. Charging up ahead he approached Naze Arron in a duelist's manner. In that moment a flow of snow flooded the clearing…"

At this point Devnam broke down again, tears oozing from his eyes. Some of the audiences face softened, but the majority urged him on. After a moment's lapse, the master storyteller continued.

"The flow of snow was due to Malik's attempt to create an avalanche. Unknowingly he had started one but it had been slow on the uptake, is what I presume. I managed to dig myself out of the suffocating white but the flow of snow and ice had taken its toll on Malik burying him under feet of the icy blanket. He must have frozen to death. As for the villains, three of them escaped leaving footprints in the snow.

"That's my story. Have a nice day."

There was not a single person in the audience that did not express regret at the death of Malik. They lamented audibly, tears coursing freely down their cheeks. During the story Malik had become well liked with the audience and now the grief was plain on their faces.

xxx

Devnam entered a passage of carved stone and was heading to his hollowed-out chamber when a gruff voice stopped him in his tracks.

"That was quite a story."

Devnam whirled around to face a black-white striped mountain of a badger. Lord Grey towered above him with half a meter. His features remained impassive, as they had been every time Devnam had caught a glimpse of the lord of the mountain.

"Was it true?" The question was asked with a quirk of the lips in mild curiosity-the most blatant show of emotion Devnam had ever seen from him.

Devnam nodded in mute silence and the badger lord seemed to accept this response and without a word headed down the hall and out of sight. As soon as his host left, he unknowingly bumped into one of the mothers that had been listening to his narrative. "Devnam, that was a jolly wonderful story."

"Um, thanks…"mumbled Devnam, embarrassed at this sudden praise. He was easily embarrassed especially when the other gender complimented him. Despite his age he sometimes acted like a lovelorn boy.

"You have such a _talent_, wot. And you're so different from all these other oldy bodgers," she went on throwing a delicate (_and pretty_, thought Devnam, a fire starting to kindle around his collar) arm around his neck, drawing him closer throwing sidelong looks from under her curling lashes.

_Oh god,_ moaned Devnam mentally as the flirter continued…

A winged shadow fell over the sand grains outside the mountain.

Above the sand dunes the sun beat relentlessly down from its sapphire kingdom. A raven caught itself an air current and rose with it. Its melanoid, livid, onyx feathers rustled in the high velocity of the atmosphere, the glint of gold of its beak was lost in the whirl of color. The large passerine bird returned to its flight course, veering northeast, the beak opening up in a black hole of wind and emitting a harsh, croaking cry that echoed around the territory. **Kkkrreeeeeaaaaaakkkk!** The blast of air nearly blasted the scavenger off its course but it held on swooping and flipping…

xxx

_Extracts from the writings of General Scabiniel:_

_Lord Hakemillion keeps on nagging me to choose a second colonel since all the other three generals have two. I say one is enough and Camennia does a wonderful job of holding order among my troops. I know the rumors and that everybody says that there is more than just a friendship between her and me. Since I visited Camennia's tent to get the checklist on my soldiers' battlegear everybody says we got all personal and close. It's not true, I swear!_

_Enough of those fuc&ing lies. We've been on the march for two days, taking a shortcut through the jungle to launch an ambush on Lord Dorthin. A fourth of my troops got serious mosquito-infected bites. All this to get the upper hand in our war with Dorthin. I believe Dorthin when he says Hakemillion's wife's death was a freak accident. I think milord believes it too but simply wants a reason to kill Dorthin without appearing to be treacherous. After all with Dorthin out of the way he could easily control the land._

_Do not mistake me: I am not wanting to do this treacherous act. The only reason I follow Hakemillion is that I swore to be his faithful follower when he saved me as a pirate. My crew and me waged an attack against him. I was left the only survivor in the shipload and Hakemillion gave me a life. That is what binds me to him._

_Hakemillion has called me and the other generals to a meeting of grave importance. Before these "important" meetings excited me, but now I usually keep in my tent, ink and parchment my only friends. Before I was the most sociable general; now I am the least. And why? Because of the rumors. You see, I face it but nobody believes me. Or maybe they believe me but they lie to themselves so they can have their cruel enjoyment…_

The slim weasel general rose stiffly from his writing place and rubbed circulation back in his limbs. Donning his katana he waited near the flap of his tent. His patience was rewarded as a short stoat male dressed in satin clothes and a royal cloak entered. Saluting, he bowed and spoke:

"I am to escort you to the meeting, General."

Scabiniel felt like retorting, "Then escort me to the meeting, you blubbering idiot." But this would earn him only more enemies. So instead he politely replied with a nod of his head:

"Lead on."

Outside a battalion of soldiers bustled about, drilling, instructioning others or being sent on some other errand. They were in the heart of the jungle, a day's travel from the location of King Dorthin's troops. Tropical vegetation crowded the large number of soldiers making it difficult to pitch tents. Behind them lay a route hacked out by badelaires and yatagans (carried by the foot soldiers) through the labyrinth of trees, cane, brushwood, grasses, vines and reedy vegetation. North lay a vast swamp, a bottomland satiated with sloughed, dirty oozing water thronged by trees, shrubs and other woody plants. The west was overgrown with a jumble of vegetation clustered and closeted between mighty trees from which dripped ebon snakes. From that direction came the roars of infuriated who-knows-what. The howls chilled the hearts of many. And from the east flowed a wide river swamped with snarling pikes and craving, bloodthirsty, and hungry barracudas.

Scabiniel gazed around. Their number of slaves had been reduced to a bare skeleton of two score. This was not a surprise since the vile Hakemillion had let his soldiers ride the slaves, to keep their own casualties at a minimal. But now a difficult situation had arisen since many slaves had fallen victims to dangers lurking on the jungle floor. Now there were not enough rides for everybody since the army consisted of over two thousand veterans. The surviving goodbeasts slaves were miserable beings, worked out beyond their resistance while blood-sucking flies and mosquitoes nestled in between their wounds, nibbling away at their flesh and sucking at their blood, biting at their soul.

Scabiniel and his escort arrived at Hakemillion's tent. It was a wondrous piece of art, gold and silver threaded with tough nylon in a weather withstanding but beautiful tent. It was spacious too. Inside rich and artfully, creative, woven tapestries hung from each wall or cloth wall, held together with bronze chains. Inside the three other generals and Lord Hakemillion were already seated comfortably in the tent.

"Whe' wa' ya off, snatchin' a few last seconds with your girl colone'" sneered one of the generals, Kabbin. Kabbin was a spiteful, mordant, vain, ornery, rancorous, vindictive, and spleenful fox, or at least from Scabiniel's point of view. His lean and wiry form supported two naked wakizashi. His sanity seemed to be slipping away with every day. "Ah, kne' there wa' somethin' up whe' ya chose a fem for a colone'," he continued.

Scabiniel ignored him and kneeled in front of Hakemillion. "Oh great and mighty lord of the world, the all-mighty savior of the ferrets and the stoats, the rats and foxs, the weasels and the martens, and everybody else who serves under your leadership, as sure as you be the punisher of the mice and the squirrels, the hares and the otters-"

"Dispense with the formalities, Scabiniel," said Hakemillion from his mock throne. He was a gargantuan being with a bloated, swelling, bulbous stomach that would strike fear in the most faint-hearted maid, Scabiniel liked to think humorlessly. Emerald orbs peered at the quartet from the stoat's pudgy face that might well have been blobs of flat for the comparison it had. He was dressed in multi-layers of expensive clothing. When silence was held, he started. "Now that all of us are present," a glare at Scabiniel, "We may begin…"

Above it all the shadow of the raven illuminated the cloth roof over the tent. The scavenger bird spread its wings and sped eastward away from the scene of evil…

xxx

Lord Dorthin was a shallow faced ruler with pale grooves that crossed his furry paws. He was a simple-minded mouse with simple pleasures that had had the fate of being the heir to a man of great power. However, this huge responsibility often overwhelmed him as in this case. He was currently in a heated discussion with the squirrel opposite of him, Trentl, his advisor.

"Everybody has no doubt your intention was not to kill his wife but simply stop her from ruining anything in her drunken rampage," Trentl assured him.

Dorthin clasped his head between his hands and moaned. "Then why in the name of Martin is he doing this!"

Trentl comforted his lord. "Not all beings have noble souls like you. Hakemillion is doing this out of pure greed to seize the land. Probably."

Dorthin gasped. Trentl grinned at his reaction. "Never occurred to you did it?"

Their amiable conversation was interrupted by tussling sounds near the entrance of the tent. "Guards…" called out Dorthin a tinge of worry drifting in his voice.

His call was answered as the two bodies of the guards crashed through the tent flap, blood staining their polished chain mail, wounds creasing their bodies, eyes widened to the size of blobs in fear. Their last seconds were spent writhing in agony. From what Dorthin could see they had been stabbed and slashed in a frenzy of blades.

From the tent entrance slipped in a myriad of shadows, which quickly surrounded the duo. As Trentl raised his head to sound the call for help, a beledah (saber) came whistling out of the darkened shadows staining the cloth walls and in a twist hard to follow, cut the advisor's jugular vein. Trentl collapsed to the floor, blood flowing from his neck. He was quite dead.

Dorthin knew he should call for help but fear had welled up in his throat making him gag on his saliva. As the shadow wraiths drew closer he deciphered them as ebon-clothed beasts, masked and armed with beledahs. The leader seemed to be the man who had killed Trentl. He drew closer to Dorthin, sword turning in his hands. Dorthin drew his bastard sword from his scabbard, hands shaking so durably with fear that he almost dropped the sword on his foot. Like almost every leader or ruler of great authority and power, Dorthin knew how to use a sword but he was not especially skilled with it. Dorthin feebly tried to control his fear by stretching into an "en garde" position. He watched his opponent's face muscles to know when and where the attack would come from.

Dorthin had expected an attack with the sword. However being ready for only one type of assailance is rarely effective in a battle or encounter. You have to be open to all strategies and possibilities.

A blur of movement and a clothed leg shot out, catching the hilt of king's sword. The blade inoculated and the masked leader caught the hilt in his hand. A blade in both hands, the anonymous attacker took a step forward, swords whistling in curves of steel. The beledah, held in the left hand, came flashing in a downward stab. A few inches buried itself underneath Dothin's ribs. Dorthin kneeled over in pain and the bastard sword came slashing through the air until it hovered a few millimeters' from Dorthin's neck.

Dorthin gulped, his Adam's apple sliding underneath his own blade. Then, moving only a muscle, his opponent's twist of the wrist freed the saber from Dothin's body and the other sword disappeared from the threatening place. Ducking Dorthin's speedy punch, he surged forward and with a perfectly timed leap, he head butted Dorthin under the chin. Dorthin went flying heads over heels to land on the tent cloth. The masked attacker placed a boot over Dorthin's chest.

The sounds of fighting had brought Dorthin's guards running to their commander's tent. With a nod from their leader, the masked group dispersed out of the dangerous area, cutting their way through the tent wall with their blades. The leader remained and brought his masked face close to Dorthin's face. A dangerously familiar voice cut through Dorthin's giddy fear.

"Do you know who I am?"

Dorthin felt as if his tongue was somewhere else, so he shook his head. The leader took of his mask. "_Now_ do you know who I am?"

For the first time since the bloody encounter Dorthin spoke: "_Collin_…it _can't_ be you…"

"Surprised, aren't we brother lord? Well I must sadly announce that I better get going…" guards burst in the tent, "See you another time, little bro," sneered Collin and plunged through a slash in the tent . . .

xxx

The guards were put immediately to work, searching for the masked gang. They returned back with empty hands, mystified. All traces had been wiped away and it was as if the encounter had never happened if not for the fact that Trentl was dead.

An onyx raven rustled its feathers in the breeze, its shadow cast on the fissure in the craggy cliffs. A crossbow bolt came speeding out of that direction, and speared the raven through its black glossy plumage. It fell back in the large fissure, disappearing from the sky like a silhouette.

Collin held the dying raven in both hands. He spoke to it. "We will meet again brother…and it will be the last time . . ."

xxx

Agent D: Thanks a lot for your lengthy review and for adding me to your favorites. I appreciate it a lot, and as soon as my computer is back under Internet access, I will continue my reading of Orphen. The only reason I'm even able to post this chapter up is because I type it on my computer (I can't go to the internet but I can start documents), put it on a floppy disk and convert it to my account on my dad's laptop. Only thing is, I can't stay on my dad's laptop to actually read a whole chapter.

Mr. Nice Guy, The Flamer, and…Jack: What happened to Dr. Evil? Well, thanks for your review, and I'm interested in what the site-famous rater, Jack, will have to say after I post some more up. You sound like a pretty prolific author judging by your helpful and criticizing reviews, and I'm surprised you haven't gotten an account yet.

Grubswiper: Thanks man, I appreciate your dedication towards reviewing every thing I've posted up, and I told you (If you got my email); I will review your story as soon as I can (see response to Agent D).


	3. Chapter II

CHAPTER II: NOT WHAT IT APPEARS TO BE

Author's Note: This chapter is sorta choppy but it's till a beginning chapter. The next few chapters will flow along more smoothly, though I do introduce a lot of characters in chapter six. Anyways, there will be some violence in this chapter, moreso than in the last chapter, at least. So far, out of what I've posted, this is my favorite chapter so enjoy. And guys, I know my computer was supposed to start working right now, but it's hecka weird-I'm connected with a good signal strength, but there's no activity, I swear! Don't worry, I'll try to get online somehow, meanwhile I can still post a few reviews from my dad's laptop.

xxx

Lukas slumped against the stone rail of Salamandastron's inner sanctuaries, fingering the stolen ring. The bloodless, alabaster, platinum artifact shone its topaz, sunlight glinting off it in a triangle-shaped gust of light. The tan-furred mouse pressed it into his palm, the prize of all his reign as a thief. It was indeed beautiful. And to think him, the play-toy of all bullies could hold such priceless jewelry!

He sighed heavily, his small and lithe body squirming with energy, his amber eyes writhing with barely restrained joy. Who indeed would have thought it possible?

His upbringing was nothing noble; in fact his childhood was that of the poor son of a wandering prostitute. His early years were spent traveling treacherous landscapes with his mother, stealing money from the poor and grubbing for the hospitality of others. His mother's business disgusted him; she would always leave him alone in the night while bedding married males.

One day in autumn, years ago, when Lukas was nine seasons old, her business had led his mother to her death. Lukas had run over the desert, running from the vengeful stoat wife (he had always been repelled that his mother fraternized even with vermin if the price was high). He ran days in row, collapsing on the spot and disillusioning himself with images of an oasis. If the young mouse had had any ideas of what "hell" was like, this would have been his best guess. His throat drummed with the blasted aching, the heat of the sun sent sand grains burning into Lukas's poorly shod hind paws. At one point he had had to feast upon the dead carcass of a rat he had found and suck the blood for moisture. It had been the worst experience in his life, no competition.

Then he had crashed into the aged squirrel that had introduced himself as Devnam. The two loners developed a close friendship. Devnam had nursed young Lukas back to full health, had shared his provisions and taught Lukas how to look out for himself.

Devnam had taught the boy decent skills with a yatagan, showed him how to forage, taught him the skills and means of stealth and espionage, and showed him how to smooth talk himself out of trouble. Then came the other side of education. For months they trudged side by side and Devnam began to explain and teach: mathematics, the language arts including spelling, writing and vocabulary along with reading, science and technology, economics and politics, and history amongst others. Lukas picked up odd pieces of information from Devnam, like how to treat rotten teeth, all about platinum and precious stones, and the anatomy of plants and animal cells. They had spent the nights laying on their backs, counting and naming the constellations. Under daylight they discussed herbs, mosses, and plants and how hepatitis affects the human body. They argued about possible cures. Under twilight when it was cooler, Lukas practiced various exercises handed out from Devnam to make his body more fit and his muscles stronger and harder.

For months they had traveled the desert, encountering numerous hardships. When they finally reached the great fire mountain, Lukas was thirteen seasons old. Devnam quickly fitted in with the other hares, but the other younglings never seemed to accept Lukas for one of them. He became the fruit of bully's conquest. Over the years he became a thief and a good one at that. He still had enough respect for Devnam to keep from stealing his valuables though…

Lukas heard the crunch of sand grains under a leather boot. He was roughly hauled up, a firm hand grabbing his scruff. He peered into the eyes of Joluff. The hulking troublemaker hare (yes, hares-Lukas quickly learned that a lot of adolescent goodbeasts could be as bad as vermin) prided himself as being the "honorable" leader of a small club of vandals and bullies. They hid daggers in their boots and drank themselves insane with alcohol as favorite pastimes. Lukas happened to be one of their favorite victims, ahem subjects.

"Well, what'd ya jolly know, it's my good feller Lukas, standin' around jawin' with himself. Ah guess I should fix that, me laddie buck!" said Joluff in an educated but mocking voice. He dropped him on the ground. "Now remember the deal, sah; ye give me some sparkly thingamajiggers and I'll give you some spiffin' punches. Hahahaha!" Joluff towered over the short thief. "Now get on with it, I don't have all daytime to stand here and look at the ugly likes of you."

Lukas clenched his fists nervously, trying to overrule his edgy nerves. He was determined not to give in to Joluff. The ring was priceless. Swallowing the fear that had formed in his throat, he replied:

"Get out of my way, you cross-eyed, idiotic, fiddle-faced buffoon-" Lukas was rudely stopped in mid-sentence, as one of Jolluf's humplike paws clenched around his neck. He was lifted into the air and then went tumbling backwards to slide a considerable length in the mud. The onlookers (who were all part of Joluff's gang-a decent lad would have put a stop to this) who before had been laughing at Lukas's description of Joluff were now cackling at the muddy image of Lukas. Joluff towered over the muddy thief, his face beet red with indignation.

Lukas fumbled in the pockets of his tunic for the small dagger he kept with him. Finding it, he scrambled to his feet and drew his arm back for the throw. Joluff's hand encircled his and crushed his fingers together, the dagger spurting out of his grip. _Drat it; the antbrain is breaking my fingers._ Lukas unexpectedly surged forward against the vandal's grip, flailing wildly with his head. With a flick of a wrist, Joluff tossed the thief aside like a rag.

"No playing with knifes, me laddo, or didn't your mater teach you that, wot wot?" spluttered Joluff angrily. With a powerful punch he sent Lukas back to the ground. Or should we say, he _intended_ to do just that. The nimble thief dodged to one side, hips turning backwards with an unexpected attack. The finishing touch of a hook kick caught Joluff a gash on his temple. Roaring like a bull, the enormous hare thundered forward, pushing Lukas to the ground. Swerving around his fallen victim, he grabbed Lukas's knife, crusted in mud that shook off in his move.

Lukas had risen up in a fast crouch, hastily sidestepping to one side as the dagger sped by. The sight of Joluff trampling with incredible force in his direction sent the thief scurrying backwards for the dagger. His hand closed around the throwing blade and he flicked it upwards.

He had aimed for Joluff's face, wanting to inflict a distracting, shallow wound. Instead Joluff suddenly straightened upwards. The throwing dagger sunk into his neck, blood oozing out. He collapsed to the ground, gurgling unintelligibly, crimson liquid pouring over his collar. Then he went silent and crashed to one side, eyes alight with fever before closing.

Lukas stood rooted to one spot. The crowd who had been intensely uproarious moments before, now turned wide eyes in his direction, feelings of disbelief traced over their faces.

The sun sunk in the west sky, marking sunset.

xxx

Hakemillion fidgeted uncomfortably in his throne. His royal robes of purple shades brushed over the oaken carved arms of the throne. Watercolor sketches of beasts in battle decorated the wooden regal chair and a red satin cloth covered the splintery back.

Henrick (a.k.a. Hakemillion) really had to call himself lucky. After departing with Amberkan and Naze Arron, the sole survivors of the avalanche, he had encountered the rich Hakemillion, assassinated him (after a thorough examination of the lord) and taken up his title. Their appearances were equivalent and the customs, habits, personality traits, and language were quickly picked up. So began the reign of Lord "Henrick" Hakemillion. Differences would have been noticed if the true lord had ruled a little longer. But it was not to be so as Hakemillion had just seized power when Henrick arrived.

Henrick had actually set up the catastrophe of his wife. It gave him a reason to kill Dorthin without looking treacherous. Then he would be the complete, undisputed leader of all vermin and all the good beasts in Dorthin's army. Then there would be just a few other minor pains like Salamandastron that might sting him, but he would soon settle that. Henrick liked the sound of that.

He had to get back to the meeting. "We are here to discuss the ambush more thoroughly," Henrick hid a smile; he was really starting to sound more educated…"Dorthin and his army are located on the brinks of a slope, but not in a valley if you get my meaning (their location/). According to my spies, he eventually plans to move but not by the time we arrive, since he expects us to take the long way. We will be there by tomorrow-"

Scabiniel abruptly cut off his lord. "But the three routes in which we can advance are covered by dense swamps, extremely clustered vegetation and a river…"

"Ah, but there comes the snap," interrupted Henrick. "You can see as clearly as I can that the slaves are useless. We can kill them, skin them and cook them. The meat will boost our soldier's spirits and the skins, with some other materials, can be fashioned into boats that will guide us across the river…" There was a roar of approval from the generals, not including Scabiniel. He remembered the starved, miserable, spirit-less beasts he had seen, and imagined the cruelty and torture that would end their lives.

"Back to the ambush," concluded Henrick. "A small squad of soldiers headed by General Scabiniel will shoot fire arrows and crossbow bolts from the top to cause distraction and panic among the troops. Meanwhile various snipers will circle around Dorthin's soldiers, hitting and running. These troops will be led by General Kabbin and will be experts in stealth and fighting. Meanwhile, there will be a few scores of soldiers, led by General Trew. In the retreat, they will blend in with Dorthin's troops, dressed in the uniforms we gained from Dorthin's unsuccessful scouting expedition, and will head to the army's camp. This will be undercover specialized espionage work which shall help us greatly in the long run. For you see, they will keep on relaying information to us through a few representatives and secretly assassinating Dorthin's generals and if possible, Dorthin himself. With this clever ploy, we might not need to launch an attack against Dorthin at all." Henrick grinned. "Scabiniel select your archers, Kabbin choose your snipers, and Trew gather your undercover workers, pick soldiers trustworthy, strong, smart, loyal, and resourceful…"

"What about me?" piped up the forth general, Radden Sikkan, a silver ferret.

"You will hold the bulk of the close-combat troops as backups, in case our ambush is failing," Henrick assured him. "The meeting is concluded." And without another word he stalked out of the tent, royal cloaks swirling beside him, a sapphire jewel glinting on his ring finger.

There was a murmur of speculation from the generals, and then they exited each in their different way. Scabiniel was wandering aimlessly around until someone tapped him on the shoulder. It was Trew.

"I would require a word with you, sir, in my tent," the rat articulated. Scabiniel followed him, puzzlement scribbled over his soul. Why would Trew want to talk to him? He did not have long to hypothesize…

Inside the tent, Trew signaled Scabiniel to sit on the oaken chair. Scabiniel obeyed. After a long moment Trew started speaking.

"A month ago or so, I admired you, general. But that was before you showed your other dirty, treacherous side. That was before the incident with your colonel." At this point Scabiniel opened his mouth to object but Trew cut him off in a strong voice. "Did it not occur to you that I loved Camennia, yearned for her every second of my life!" Trew ripped his Lochaber axe from his back sheath. "I will never forgive you!" Trew's axe blade met Scabiniel's katana with a clash and sparks flew.

"Sir, you have made a grave mistake," protested Scabiniel, but in Trew's eyes flitted hints of craziness. There was no talking out of this; he would have to fight his way out.

Scabiniel was a famed fighter, but not because he was exceptionally quick or strong. What made him such a great warrior was his extensive battle mind. While he fought, data poured into his brain and time seemed to slow down as he calculated his moves. He took in the terrain and ground and used it to his advantage. Right now everything he knew about Trew poured into his mind, seeking to help him.

_Trew's limbs were extremely flexible; he rarely made the mistake of overestimating and underestimating; he liked to use his amazing stability against his opponents…_

Trew's moves were simple, aggressive and strong. Each clash sent shocks down his limbs, but Trew pressed with ever-new vigor. Scabiniel's eyes flicked over the tent. An overturned chair lay in the opposite corner they were in. That might help him.

_Low block…High block, middle block…sidestep…_Scabiniel noted that Trew seemed to be trying to push him in a shadowed corner of the tent. Who knew what trap lay there? At this thought, Scabiniel pressed on the offensive side.

_Reversal crescent…Duck, high block, foot sweep…_Damn it! Trew had serenely avoided it by a quick jump, feet ricocheting in Scabiniel's direction. Scabiniel tumbled backwards and rose into a "guard" position. A brainstorm beamed him, and the webs of a new plan were starting to form in his astute mind.

Trew circled him, and then lunged aggressively. His axe locked with Scabiniel's blade and the katana ricocheted upwards. Scabiniel had estimated this. His only remaining choice was to retreat into the shadowy corner… or so Trew thought. Scabiniel recklessly attacked, head-butting Trew in the stomach and accurately kicking at the tendons below the knees.

Trew stumbled backwards and Scabiniel leapt into the air, hand groping for the katana hilt. His heart plummeted faster than a ballast ball in deep water. The katana was too far away. Even as he began to fall back to the ground he leaned frantically towards the sword, body flailing awkwardly. His hand closed around the hilt, and he tried to flip backwards in a 180-degree tilt so he would land on his feet. This motion was tough to do in rushing air, and the heel of his foot smashed against Trew's solar plexus as he twisted desperately in the atmosphere.

Far from landing safely on his feet, Scabiniel crashed to the ground, back and head suffering from the painful impact. Ignoring the throbbing in his head, Scabiniel scrambled as quickly as he could to his feet, stumbling incoherently. Trew had regained his balance but as he crouched into another position, his foot caught the edge of the overturned chair. He landed stridently on the ground. Scabiniel was upon him in a flash, like a starved wolf scenting fresh blood from weak prey.

The Lochaber axe slipping out of his hand, Trew cried feebly for help, an almost inaudible voice swiftly snuffed out by his demise. But Scabiniel was to busy sliding his katana through the general's rib cage to notice.

xxx

The office was a simple architecture. It was spacey enough, square-like, with stone walls (like in the rest of the mountain), ceiling and floor. There were no windows, and at the door entrance stood a female hare guard, heavily armed. There were sparse furnishings, mostly the couch Lukas slumped on, dejectedly.

_Make yourself right at home,_ thought Lukas drolly; _we offer you the latest comforts_.

He couldn't lie to himself. A harsh punishment would follow his murder of Joluff, when the mountain leaders decided on it. He didn't want to find out what form of punishment it was. Only if he could have explained that Joluff had attacked him first, but the evidence was hard to disregard, and since the beginning hares had been wary about missing objects. This was the last straw.

He had to get out of here. That was decided on. How he would execute this outcome wasn't.

The entrance was obviously the only exit. But then he would have to knock out the guard and he had been deprived of the dagger.

He fumbled in his tunic sleeves for a possible replacement. Something sharp fell into his hands. The ring!

The platinum! Maybe it wasn't the hardest metal, but it sure was hard enough for his purposes…

"Yoo-hoo!" called out Lukas. The guard turned and the platinum ring caught her above the eyes, bulls-eye on the forehead. The guard crumpled to the floor. Lukas grinned. _Not bad going._

Lukas carefully tiptoed over the guard and gazed around. The corridors were empty of everybody since they were having an assembly on the other side of the mountain discussing his fate. Lukas grimaced wryly. No matter, he'd be long gone by then.

Lukas slipped around the corridors encountering nobody and he slowly made his way to the front entrance. There were two guards there so he decided it was time to use his own entrance.

Some time, long ago, he had found a tunnel that led him in and out of the mountain. Now seemed the perfect time to use it so he helped himself to it. It was near the base, a small hole, barely big enough for Lukas and covered with sediment rock. He brushed the stones apart and started crawling on his paws, dust and gravel coating his fur. But at the moment he couldn't care less. The air was musty and laced with fleas and gnats but after what Lukas approximated to be ten minutes, he clawed his way out and heaved himself to his feet.

He was on the outskirts of the desert, the place that had brought nightmares to his brain. But at least he was safe…temporarily. As he started out, a cutting voice halted him in his steps.

"Stop! I command you to stop!"

xxx

Well, that's all for that chapter. The next chapter is my favorite off all that I've written. There's a small part at the beginning about Collin and why he hates Dorthin and then there's a long, good action-scene description of Henrick's attack. Oh, and just in case you're wondering, you won't even meet the main bad character until chapter five-yes, sad, I know.

Agent D: How old I am? Well actually I'm pretty young. I believe I'm younger than all my reviewers (including you) except maybe Kitkatcathy, and Mr. Nice Guy, The Flamer, and…Jack. Yeah. And I know I was using all those technical words in the beginning but once I get into the feel of the story I sorta stop. Like, I don't think I used that many of those words this time. Anyways, I thank you for reviewing all my works since the second story in my collection (which I will update in some time) and with lengthy reviews none the less (oh, and now I get to reward you, since I will start to review "Orphen").

Kitkatcathy: Scabiniel is cool, ain't he? He is one of the most important characters and I will either let him live through this story or kill him off in the end. And the 'technichal' scene you described with the raven; I was sort of trying to impress upon my readers why the chapter was called what it was. Anyways, now it's your turn to have a cookie! Chocolate chip, sugar, or peanut butter?

Mr. Nice Guy, The Flamer, and…Jack: What! You just found Dr. Evil and now you're hitting him with cannonballs and trying to arrest him! I'll get him a lawyer as quick as I can! Shame! Ha, well actually you're right I didn't go through my last chapter three times, I did it only once, because I was too bored. 8.5 to 9.8? That's a pretty big range, but it's only normal since I haven't posted much up. But that's pretty good and thanks a lot!


	4. Chapter III

CHAPTER III: BLOOD FOR BLOOD

Author's note: Well this is probably my favorite chapter of TSP out off all that I've written of this story. This entire chapter except for the opening scene will revolve around the ambush on Dorthin's army led by Hakemillion. Well, I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it and please leave a review. By the way, I also included some background information on the weapons used in this ambush within the battle scenes like the tiger claw and anelace.

xxx

Collin shaded his eyes with his paws. The sun was bright but not hot. He watched the gathering masses of Dorthin's army. It was pitiful, really. They knew when the attack would come but not from where. Collin found a comfortable seating for his back in the misshapen formation of rearing cliffs. He would just sit back and watch…

The sun partly clouded his vision. Memories of distant time were brought to his mind. He and his brother Dorthin had been sons to the great mouse lord Kullak. Collin had been the firstborn, so he was rightfully the heir to the power. Or was, for there had been that incident…

_Collin and Dorthin struggled across the cliff face, fleeing from the enemy that had brought their father's death around._

_"Hurry up, Collin." Dorthin's voice was full of fond affection. Collin struggled to catch up with his brother, who had always been the superior climber. Dorthin seemed to slow down, and Collin reached the top first. He stretched and offered a paw to his brother._

_"Come on, Do," muttered Collin, helping Dorthin up. He then turned and started to take note of his surroundings, looking for a possible escape out of this mess. He felt a sudden push at his back and he was falling in the ravine below…_

Collin traced the scars on his face. He hoped Hakemillion wouldn't kill his treacherous brother. He wanted the honors. His clenched fist tightened, smothering the darkness within.

xxx

Colonel Panias Urayling enjoyed being the top officer around; Dorthin didn't elect generals.

Panias was a tall, broad-shouldered otter, muscles bulging from underneath his nylon uniform. He was beginning to get frail on in his years; gray wisps of fur shadowed his temple and wizened creases stretched across his stony face; body drooped, slightly, with age. But the ebon eyes still burnt resolutely and he held himself firmly. Panias could still take on anyone in the army and hold the upper paw, and now that Trentl was dead he was the most experienced veteran around.

Panias was in charge of the troops remaining in the valley. The rest had gone to scout for the enemy: thirty patrols, a score strong each. A few faithful soldiers and bodyguards protected Dorthin in a secret, dugout tunnel. They would bring their leader to safety at the second there was no hope for the army. But of course Panias wouldn't let it get that far…

A captain drew a salute as he rushed to Panias's side, ribs heaving with the hard run's exertion. "Report," stated Panias coolly.

"Sir, me and my patrol were heading southeast when we witnessed several thousands of soldiers crossing a river on slaves-skin _boats_-" the squirrel captain shuddered with a grimace. "We took them to be Hakemillion's vermin. We followed them and uncovered their tactics. They divided into fractions and-". The captain tumbled backwards a shaft jutting out of his skull. _And are heading here right now,_ finished Panias mentally.

His whole life the commander had been trained for action in dire situations. _Reflexes, reflexes,_ his father and instructor had drilled into his brain. He had learned how to swivel and turn in a split second from any position, how to leap about, crouch and dodge, how to jump, duck and weave through living beings, shrubbery or any other material. He had learned how to counter in fractions of a second, how to focus and concentrate immensely on the task. Now these movements spilled out fast and fluidly with complete certainty.

Panias bent in an eye flashing turn, weaving through the soldiers, a living shield protecting him. Soldiers and veterans fell on all sides around him, fire arrows shot from the summit of the hill snuffing their lives out. Some of the soldiers died in the blink of an eye but the unlucky ones gurgled about, spraying blood, the fire spreading across their torso. Not exactly what you would call a pleasant death scene.

Panias drew near the front, a paw unhooking a crossbow from his back. Fitting a black-iron bolt to the metal bow he sighted down it. Later Panias would declare that he had done it by instinct, since by nature he was a modest colonel. However, undeniably, it had been an impressive feat.

His brain drowned the sound and cries around him. All thoughts were drawn into a distant abyss in his mind. His focus was complete. Time froze. The settings of where the fire-arrow band was located floated up in front of him. It was like he had pressed a "zoom-in" button in his retina. He did not move but he saw the tiniest detail from the top of the ridge. He sighted his crossbow on the leader but changed his mind. That might send the group in disarray but it would kill only one person. Then he saw the perfect target.

It was a huge willow tree, partly uprooted. It was leaning to one side. The roots were showing and the tree was decaying. Over half of the roots had been cut and only a small mass of supporting plants held it. If those roots were to be cut… well let's just say it would annihilate a considerable number of the archers. Exactly Panias's intention. He sighted the bolt on the cloud of thin roots and let loose.

Time continued on its way and the noise, action, smell and thoughts came leaping back in a thunderous leap. Panias stared at the bolt as it sped toward the summit. As a few archers began nocking arrows to their bows the bolt came thundering like an angry, very angry wasp. The tree tilted downwards on the impact . . .

. . . and crashed down. Surprised shrieks sounded from the top and there was a lull in the sniping. Panias took this moment as a chance to install order.

"Keep your heads down and regroup!" roared Panias. "Regroup and fall back!" They did just that.

The troops drew back out of range in the lower part of the valley, which was dotted with shrubbery and vegetation. The temperature was cool and a light Eastern breeze ruffled Panias's cape. It was the perfect afternoon for a picnic, but Panias had no illusions about picnics on his mind. It was time to show the enemy a taste of _real_ fighting.

The center is the best place for a commander to be, theorized Panias, because from the center you have the safest location against the enemy and can command the forward and back troops better due to the fact that you can actually _see_ how they are faring. So it was due to this smart decision that Panias uncovered Kabbin's troops serving as the back snipers in Hakemillion's ambush, hoping to catch the army in a pincer movement.

The front regiments of the infantry soldiers had been doing fairly well, struggling with corpses and withdrawing the wounded, so Panias had turned his attention to the cavalry located at the back. They were withdrawing in a disorganized manner and a few were accidentally spewing backwards in other directions. Panias drew closer. Behind the bushes dead bodies thudded to the ground. Panias seized up the situation in a second.

"Attackers from the back," he barked sharply, "Turn around in a half circle and cut them off in a flanking maneuver. Charge with shields at the front pikes and spears straight. Loose off a few arrows before engaging, a few less enemies to deal with! Behind the front ranks of the cavalry, you infantrymen hold your axes and halberds straight, swords at the side…CHARGE!"

And so they charged, thundering through the shrubbery, trampling vegetation beneath their hind paws. The snipers tumbled backwards, loosing missiles as they fled to regroup into groups, and attack furiously using the "turtle formation". Casualties ran high on both sides as a creamy sunset illuminated a real-life display of disorganized melee fighting.

xxx

Hakemillion gazed down on the valley being demolished to ruined and scattered soil among dead bodies. It was simple to describe the scene by two words: 'Chaos reigned'. The false Lord turned to his generals and remaining troops, an unreadable expression pasted on his face.

"Radden…"

"Sir."

"You must send in your back-up troops," ordered Henrick. " We do have enough chaos to cover Ujan's troops-" because of the 'mysterious'disappearance of General Trew (nobody had seen the duel and Scabiniel had not even thought about confessing) his topmost colonel, Ujan, had gotten his rank, "-so they can blend in with Dorthin's soldiers in their retreat, but we're not such a threat that they should retreat." Henrick grinned ferally. "Or at least not yet!"

Radden Sikkan nodded his short ferret form shuddering delightfully with the thought of bloodshed. "Yes sir," he agreed.

Hakemillion gave his last commands. "Right. The Cavalry will be at the head and then a regiment of infantry following just behind. Remain undercover until drawing close enough to the scene. Then attack." Henrick turned to Ujan. "You and your troops. Glad that you got the uniforms on already. Anyways, circle around the scene of battle until you reach the base of the cliffs. From there casually drop into the ranks, a few at a time."

The stoat nodded and turned to his 'would-be undercover workers'. Meanwhile Radden rallied his troops and swept among the shadows of the fringe of trees. There was a scent of salt in the air as the new element entered battle.

The more the merrier!

xxx

Panias wasn't exactly overcome by battle lust, though it would have been helpful if he had been. They were losing the battle; heaven's sake an infantcould have come up with that conclusion. The troops led by the short Radden Sikkan had decapitated two hundred soldiers from the back in the blink of an eye. They were still pressing on strongly. Meanwhile the snipers had managed to regroup and were pelting the cavalry with numerous missiles: slinging river pebbles, shooting arrows and crossbow bolts, firing feathered darts, and hurling short javelins with determination etched in their every throw.

Vermin and goodbeasts alike died in agony, pools of blood forming on the battlefield. Wounded beasts and dead corpses depicted the scene, and the soldiers under Panias's command were starting to lose hope.

Panias cut down an infantry beast with a carefully placed slash of his glaive. The enemy came in never-ending waves of death. Panias was splattered head to toe in bloody gore, a considerable amount his own. He gave an inaudible gasp of pain as an anelace (a heavy, broad-bladed, sharp-pointed, double-edged knife, worn primarily by civilians at the girdle) bit into his wrist. He looked at the wrongdoer and was surprised to see the commander of the close combat troops. Ah, a chance to turn the tide of battle in their favor.

"As a fellow commander, I challenge you to a duel." The words from Panias were spoken with ease, but on the surrounding fighters it had an effect. Radden could not refuse without having his pride and honor take a serious beating…

xxx

Ujan struggled over the treacherous rocks, high-footing to keep his balance. He and his squad had to keep in the shadows of the looming wall of granite, dodging the sharp and dangerous rocks that seemed to sprout from the ground, in their mission to reach the base of the cliff. From there they could blend in with Dorthin's army in their retreat; they already had the uniforms on.

_Why couldn't some other snitnose, oafish dolt do this?_ Inwardly questioned Ujan. He was the only general that had to slog in this damned terrain where one slip of his foot would send him to his demise, while the other generals reveled in pain and blood on the battlefield.

"There it **is**!" screeched a soldier in the front. "_There it is_-" Ujan sprinted ahead and tackled the soldier from behind, clamping a rough paw over his mouth. "What the h#& do_ you_ think you're doing!" he whispered fiercely, anger written on every facial feature. "_Do you_ **mean to blow our COVER!"**

Ujan helped the soldier to his feet and then with a move hard to follow, he pushed him backwards an arm flailing against his feet. The soldier was jerked of his feet and with a crack (CRACK!) his skull was smashed against the now-bloody rocks. Ujan stepped over him and stared at the rest of the group defiantly.

"I don't need blabbermouths who get us killed, in this group," he stated flatly, expressionless eyes roving over his soldiers. "Next one who utters a sound louder than a whisper…I'll gut him down the middle and leave him here to bleed to death."

The group resumed their march, silent as mice.

Shabinya scurried to her general, body shaking with exhaustion. "Down…at the battle…field," the she-fox gasped between mouthfuls of air, taking the intent to whisper to heart. "Duel…officer of….Dorthin's and Radden…Sik-". She collapsed to the ground, struggling to contain herself. "I think the winner will decide if Dorthin's army will retreat," the fem concluded, gazing at Ujan for answers.

"How good is this enemy officer?" inquired Ujan.

"Pretty good. He certainly has a chance."

"Hmmm," mused Ujan, scratching his sparse chin fur. He fixed the group with a determined glare. "Then we will make sure Radden does not lose."

xxx

There was a rough sketch of a court drawn in the mud. This was the ground for the two duelists to 'duke it out'. Nobody was to interfere.

Radden had cloaked himself in a tough, stringy, loose robe, cut at the thighs. He seemed to be going for speed rather than protection with his textile. He fixed a pair of 'tiger claws' The tiger claw was a favorite weapon of assassins and thieves in India and other parts of the Middle East; It was used against unarmored opponents for hand-to-hand combat; It was held facing outward with the bar in the palm of the hand (not the fist), and used with a slapping motion that would tear and rip unprotected skin; Quite a nasty weapon; If one wanted to kill rather than just maim, poison could be placed on the claws, though that was dangerous as a wrong move could kill the wielder as well to the palm of his paws. He gave a few probing slashes and then settled to grinning feral-like at his opponent.

Panias, on the other side, had fitted a steel cuirass on his torso. He hefted the wooden pole of his glaive in his paws; he experimented with a few expert twists to get the feel of the weapon in his paws. He stared down the court at his enemy, matching glare for glare. The onlookers drew their breath…the duel was about to begin.

The two combatants circled each other, instincts and skill stretched to infinity. Radden made the first offensive move: a lightning quick swipe with careless ease. The general moved to avoid Panias's counter with the glaive. Panias grinned superiorly; the slash had only caused a shearing sound, and a few scratches that glinted in the sunlight, ominously, on his cuirass. Though the armor might hamper his movements, it would without a doubt gave him much needed protection.

Radden had certainly learned his lesson…. his next move was more strategic: a stab with the tiger claws between two plates of armor. Panias felt blood drip over his ribs. Though the wound was not serious, it sure irritated Panias with the fleeting stabs of pain. Panias swiped with the glaive and this time he did not miss. A flap of Radden's cloak decorated the ground but the offensive swipe yielded no blood.

"First blood," taunted Radden.

"Maybe, but it's not as important as the last," retorted Panias.

"True. And even truer it will be your blood."

The duelists clashed again and this time Panias managed to draw blood. Radden hobbled backwards, face twisted in pain as he transiently inspected his left leg and cursed. The blow had dug past the flesh and rubbed against the bone. His leg was drenched in blood, and every second was a challenge with pain.

It took a moment for Radden to inspect his damaged leg. But a moment was all Panias needed. As quick as his armor allowed him he was on Radden. Blows to the head, chest and stomach came hurling like a tornado. Crimson gashes started forming instantly on various parts of Radden's body. In a desperate move, Radden latched his tiger claws on Panias's face and dragged down, puncturing flesh and gouging veins, ripping nostrils and scratching disfigured shapes on his cheeks.

The result was horrendous and Panias pulled back, shocked. His clawed face set quite a new meaning to the word, 'macabre'. Radden took this disengaging moment to stumble backwards, blood covering him in a scarlet blanket and wounds adorning his body, but weakly smiling with relief. As Panias charged again, a flurry of arrows (speeding from the direction of the cliffs) struck him dead on. Colonel Panias Urayling was dead before he hit the ground.

Meanwhile, back at the base of the cliff, archers congratulated themselves. Even Ujan managed a triumphant grin. They gazed down at the desperate retreat from Dorthin's army. Stage two of the ambush would soon begin.

xxx

Well, now that I've gotten used to sort of revising my chapters I can tell you that I plan to have this story with slightly over thirty chapters and if I ever do finish this novel I will make a sequel and make this the first book in a trilogy. But a lot can happen from then to now so I won't say anything absolute yet.

Agent D: "You review, I review"-Yeah that is sort of an unspoken agreement around here. Well, I must say that this will be the last thing I will be posting up until the middle of July since I will be at this camp thingamajigger. I was planning to watch the "War of the Worlds" since I did like the novel by H.G. Wells. And well, the yatagan thing was from my original work, where characters could have access to weapons from Turkey. Same thing goes with the realism issue.

Grubswiper: You should have a prize for reviewing everything I've posted up. Here, I think a brownie will keep you going. :gives brownie:

Mr. Nice Guy, The Flamer, and…Jack: Wow, Dr. Evil and his family musta been rich for you to get three trillion. And Mr. Nice Guy wasn't really that nice, was he? Thanks for all the unneeded dialogue-it lengthened my review board. Well, this time I actually checked my work, I swear, twice and I did find a lot of mistakes. You see, each chapter I do, I just revise the chapter from my original work and submit it. So, when I checked carefully I saw a lot of mistakes, mostly hands-paws and I think horses got dragged into it somewhere.


	5. Chapter IV

CHAPTER IV: DESERT SHOWDOWN

Author's Note: This is a pretty short chapter by my standards, a sort of interval to smooth things out before putting up two really long chapters. Oh, and just for my other story-"In the Dark: A Short Story Collection" will be updated once I have finished posting up all the chapters of TSP out of my original work, revised of course.

xxx

The night had been ominous and dark, sinister and freezing cold on the desert. No poignant or decipherable sounds were heard just a garbo, laconic, ebon atmosphere. No hooting owls or foul toads, just a still night. So it was a welcome relief for the travelers on foot when dawn's rosy pink shafts and memorable hues lit up the world once more.

Devnam's hand clenched and unclenched around the hilt of his anelace nervously. How could Lukas have done this? All right maybe the youngling had always been a bit wild, but murder? Devnam couldn't bring himself to face the youth; what was worse he had to, he was part of the group that would have to bring him back or let him deal with justice on the site.

_And some kind of posse this is, _thought Devnam drolly. Two scores of beasts was more than enough to catch some renegade mouse, thank you very much. Twenty were armed guards, like they expected to face danger at every turn. The others were scholars seeking adventure and bored adolescents. Heaven's sake, what kind of "gallant quest" could this turn out to be? In fact Devnam predicted that they would be back at the mountain today or tomorrow at the very most.

"Sah," panted a young hare guard that had been in the lead, and circled back to Devnam who had been unofficially elected leader. "There's a band of jolly rocky, but not really-um, whasamacallit- steep mountains blocking our flippin' progress.

"Sah-Hmmm. At least you have some respect for your elders." Laughing at the bemused expression on the guard's face, Devnam went on, "Not steep, you say. Well our legs are in prime shape, tanned and muscled, and circling around would take far too long…so let's march on!" A roar of approval went up from the pedestrians, and the beasts (mostly hares but some were creatures of other species, seeking sanctuary at the fire mountain like Devnam) milled forward.

At first the chain of mountains were nothing more but silhouettes in the dusty light. Then as the hikers came closer, the outlines hardened and the terrain swam into view. The mountains were formed of leaning walls of stone, misshapen with oblong granite and jagged rocks that threatened to draw blood. It was hard going for the beasts but they made progress. They circled dangerous ground and unfortunately some pebbles got stuck in their hind paws, rubbing painfully against the tender flesh and causing miniature fountains of blood. These happenings caused some delays, but by mid-morning they had traversed a considerable length.

Chewing some hastily put-together snacks, (mostly rotten nuts, some stale bread and overripe fruits) while raving thirsty and sucking on their saliva, our heroes continued underway as the sun neared the zenith. By noon they had wearily agreed to take a break, as most of the squad were not experienced travelers like Devnam. They had little stamina and had indeed been pushing their limits by traipsing about this amount of time. Even the guards, though a bit more fit, had encountered a few sore and strained muscles. Devnam, despite his age, had been the faring the best, leading the group, but even he was brought to realize that a break was in their best interest.

The youthful guard, who had spoken to Devnam earlier, discovered a wide ledge suitable for their purposes. A few of the less fit travelers laid down for a quick nap and were waken quite rudely by Devnam.

"Up on your buttocks, ye lousy budworms. Ye're here to rest nah sleep. If ya close an eyelid I'll have ye marching in front with me," chastised Devnam. Unfortunately he had to lower himself to physical contact to achieve his goal.

It was about this hour that the bandits arrived.

Devnam had decided to pace back and forth for the enjoyment of it (riiiight). He wanted to get the business of catching Lukas today, and his idiotic companions _had_ to rest. His eyes wandered over the blasted landscape and he saw the masked shadow in a second.

"Wake up, you buffoons! We have company!" screeched Devnam, bringing his troupe to their sparse weapons. The masked beast (he was a weasel-Devnam could tell by his physical shape and fur) held a crossbow clasped in his paws. "One move and you're dead meat," he sneered in a surprisingly educated voice. More masked, armed figures appeared behind him, all clothed in black.

Oh, great. Just great.

xxx

Lukas clasped his temple between his hands. Why couldn't his past let go of him? Why, oh, why had those blasted, stupid hares sent a group to bring him back? Normally he would have left with a "Good riddance", and a self-satisfied smirk if bandits had attacked the posse. Anyways, he wanted to be rid of them, correct? But then there was Devnam.

Lukas was truly sad that he had disappointed Devnam. Truly. Devnam was his only friend and he felt a deep affection for the old wayfarer. The least he could do was save his own savior from the bandits.

Lukas had reached the summit of the peak this morning and now he gazed down at the conflict below. And then an idea struck him like a speeding bolt. Of course! He would send a rockslide to kill the bandits!

It was only after he sent the rocks and boulders rolling down their descent, that his mistake appeared to him. His rockslide would kill the posse too!

Lukas started screaming desperately, hoping his voice would echo downwards to warn the crowd. It was of no use! Lukas collapsed on the top of the peak, gazing down at the deadly boulders. It was his entire fault!

xxx

Geoniyo was a bully with a conscience, something you don't usually come upon. Ironically, he thought of himself as a forceful hero with an iron fist who enforced the law. Only there was a microscopic snag; the "law" happened to be Joluff's rules. Geoniyo was Joluff's best friend. Let's say the scrawny, rat-faced hare was the brains of the pair while Joluff served as the brawn. Geoniyo had wanted to join the others in the posse for strange reasons, nobly illumining himself as a gallant questor who would avenge his friend's death. He'd be disappointed.

Geoniyo watched from behind a muscular guard as Devnam defied the bandit's wish to surrender. In response the bandits sent a flurry of arrows, and Geoniyo found himself no longer safe behind the dead guard. Unknowingly, today Geoniyo would get his first taste of battle. And he wouldn't find it very edible.

Outside was a mêlée of confused slaughter. The guards were falling, their only hope. The "Long Patrol" hares might have been trained but they were greatly outnumbered with a ratio of about one to six, forty hares to about two hundred and a half vermin. The other travelers were ill fitted for battle and no threat whatsoever; the bandits captured them with the intention of using them as slaves, since they probably wouldn't sprout the seed of rebellion. In fact the only person that was even doing fairly well was Devnam. The aged warrior passed Geoniyo, who stood as if struck dumb. It was a wonder he hadn't been killed already. Devnam pressed his anelace in the hand of the youth, and moved on.

The hilt of the knife in his palm brought Geoniyo back to the harsh world around him. A gargantuan, hulking rat with knotted braids of head fur approached Geoniyo, roaring incoherently at the top of his sizeable lungs. Geoniyo did the first thing that came to his mind: he punched at the male's groin.

Geoniyo wasn't the strongest beast around, but even he knew he could have hit harder. His opponent laughed, a harsh, unpleasant sound emitting from his throat. "Goin' 'or th' beeg poi't, heh. 'll 'ake ye scre'm ye whelp," he gurgled. Geoniyo shuddered. The man's threat rang in his ears. _ll 'ake ye scre'm ye whelp…_What if he went for the same body part, he'd hit?

Unexpectedly Geoniyo rushed forward, burying his blade in the man's stomach. His enemy wheezed in pain. "Oh ye bastard 'are…"

Geoniyo pushed forward with all his strength, nervous system bulging, and adrenaline pumping insanely through his veins. He pushed harder, and harder, and harder. The rat wasn't budging, but grinning superiorly, drawing a knife out of his sheath. His grin turned to a mask of disbelief as he started sliding backwards.

Harder. _Harder._ **Harder. **Geoniyo could feel in a way he had passed the limits of his body, but his limbs burned with the need for motion and he fulfilled their wishes. And then his opponent was toppling backwards, slipping downwards over the edge of the ledge. The bandit was plummeting backwards, shrieking to the four corners of the world, cursing the wind and breeze…

"Damn ye, 'll get ye 'or 'his."

Geoniyo fell in a dead faint.

He was jolted awake by a rough hand paw seizing his neck. Another bandit smirked down at him. Then, there came a noise from upwards, and both bandits and adventurers stopped and gazed upwards. Boulders and huge rocks rained down on them. In seconds the ledge was hidden underneath the mass of granite.

Gradually something stirred underneath.

xxx

Agent D: A ring could knock out people if it is metal, big, and thrown hard (at least I think so). I mean I haven't been hit by a ring, but still, metal is harder the wooden chairs, huh? And I don't see what you mean by saying there's no main characters in this story-there are and quite a lot but not all of them have been revealed. But I can tell you safely that after the next chapter you'll have found out about all the main characters. And like I mentioned in my review to your "Author's announcement" I will be glad to be your editor if you can wait for another week. And in my original story the setting did take place close to Turkey but nobody actually went to Turkey.

Mr. Nice Guy, The Flamer, and…Jack: Is Jack your actual name (you don't have to answer that)? Well, actually I'm really good at spelling but not that great at grammar (I'm decent but I skim my writing, so yeah). Anyways, YOU had a typo where you wrote 'typos' as 'typo's'. Oh, what now! Just kidding. Still, 9.2, hmmmm…

Bananas rock my pineapples: Do you like bananas or pineapples better? Just a though question. But who says Rewall is not technologically advanced enough to create nylon?

Avelblue: Thanks for your editing sight to reveal those mistakes, but I personally think working parentheses into the text a lot can be more confusing than needed. And after the following chapter (not this one the one after this) you will realize what the full plot of this fic is.


	6. Chapter V

CHAPTER V: CONSTELLATION OF SURVIVORS

Author's note: This chapter has a sort of ROC Survivor taste, just to let you know and in this chapter I finally introduce the main bad guy. This chapter introduces about six new characters, which are all fairly important to the plot, so this chapter is important and the longest one yet (the next chapter will sort of continue from this chapter and be even longer). Also for a future outlay of the next few chapters, chapter eight will center on Henrick, Scabiniel, Ujan and his minions, Dorthin and co., etc. Chapter nine will continue on these characters in this chapter, chapter ten will reveal the "mysterious" title of this story and in chapter eleven and twelve will be a big battle. All right, now let's start this chapter. Oh, and wait a side not-even though Geoniyo is a hare he doesn't have a hare accent. Gotcha?

xxx

The sun was glaring hot; the heat was oxidizing. For the lone figure on the rocky ledge there was no shade or protection from the suffocating blaze. But then it looked quite dead, due to the fact that a spiky boulder was lodged in his spine. Blood decorated the weasel's dark clothes.

Slowly the "corpse" began to move.

Sunlight burned into the masculine's retina and macula. The eyelid began to creep open and beryl-teal irises rolled in confusion. Ivory sclera regarded the surroundings in scrutinizing disorder.

The weasel was clothed in a piceous-colored uniform, but he couldn't remember why. In fact, he couldn't remember anything! Wait…he had to have some memories; he was in his prime. The weasel strained his brain, but it did not reveal any hidden knowledge.

He felt…something… in his…what was it called? The weasel racked his mind again. Slowly reminiscences floated to the surface of his intellectual function.

_Blinding light…blue light…a lined male weasel's face…waves of warm gold…a voice, a kind, warm voice, a protecting voice, a rich, loving voice…_

"_Welcome to the world, baby Wayak," the weasel's jaws began to move…the words were strange…what did they mean?_

_An 'Hmpf' noise from behind…looming face…different kind of face…fem weasel face! He felt a thrill of pride at his solution…and yet he didn't know how he knew…the maiden_

_began doing the same thing; jaws began chomping back and forth, how did he know all these words, what were words; what was what…?_

"_Dear, we haven't decided on the name yet; why Wayak?" The tender voice comforted him to the core but he didn't get it…why were they conversing in a language he couldn't understand…_

"_I don't know, It just feels right," the male stretched (what did that mean?) his mouth (mouth?) wide…_

_The fem…opened her jaw…. fangs…. and a…not-sad (sad…meant not happy…which meant…uh, good…?) sound filled every-…-place…He was so confused…what did 'confused' mean…why did it matter to 'mean'…what did 'mean' mean…_

"_To you everything is a feeling," the fem said…said?_

The weasel sat in a lull and he looked as though he was in a trance. The memories seemed to partly seal the rift between him and his life. So his name was Wayak. A rock was hurting his back; blood was everywhere, his blood was everywhere. He was hurt…that was bad.

There was still something he didn't understand. After he grew up, what had he done with his life…

As though on request, memories came flooding out of control, to bamboozle his brain:

_A fat stoat faced him across a wooden table. The stoat seemed to be struggling with a unanimous decision. His face, suddenly, lighted up like a beacon. He had come to the solution._

"_Right. We'll give you a chance to become a bandit; not many prissy nobles make it through the 'test'," he told Wayak._

_Anger etched every millimeter of Wayak's stony face. "I'm not a 'prissy noble'," he spat. Saliva flecked his target; the stoat's smirking face._

_The stranger calmly wiped the emit from his bronzed face fur. He seemed composed enough. "Whatever. Anyways, our theme is:_

"_We rob from the poor, _

_We rob from the rich._

"_We kidnap the maidens,_

_We ransom the children._

"_And we murder the rest…-"_

"_While your companions mysteriously, accidentally die around you," finished Wayak in an annoyingly, singsong tone. _

"_Hah. I see you're already learning."_

_Wayak smirked._

Wayak scrunched up his face in pain. The memories were stinging him. But he already knew what had happened next. He'd become the leader of a group of bandits and they had mercilessly attacked a group on horseback. Then had come the rockslide.

No matter. The past was behind him. Anyways, the others had gone to eternal sleep, so nobody was here to live to tell the tale of his disgraceful career.

He was probably the only one left.

That was a throughout understatement.

xxx

Devnam sensed the rockslide before he heard it or saw it.

At the moment he had been battling against four bandits at once; since he and two other guards of the Long Patrol were the only one left standing of the party, he had to face a few at a time. The quartet of bandits was certainly keeping him on his toes. He had no interval to launch an offensive attack, but was kept satiated parrying and sidestepping the various weapon thrusts.

Then it rained rocks, literally. The quintet was at the edge of the ledge, therefore farthest away from the boulders. At first there was no warning sound, and the only possible way anybody could have been alerted was to glance up. But everybody was to lost in the spirit of the battle to look skyward.

Devnam felt a disturbance in the atmosphere. His instincts seemed to have kindled flames and he disengaged from battle, a wild look glazing his orbs. He sprinted to the edge of the ledge.

A split-second after Devnam's sequence of actions, boulders thudded in the area where Devnam had been. Three bandits were instantly killed, while the last one had its leg crippled under the rock-storm. The bandit hobbled with all his remaining speed and crashed into Devnam.

The duo went tumbling over the edge and rolled over the rocky slope. Devnam felt the jutting granite slash at his back and bloody scars formed over his body. He chanced a look backwards. The boulders were tumbling after them and getting closer by the second! Devnam went reducing out of control and he fell over the brinks of the slope. The last thing he heard was the bandit's scream as he got crushed under innumerable numbers of rocks and boulders.

He was falling through endless space. Air pummeled his clothes, and he seemed to inflate like a balloon. And then…CRASH! Devnam landed on a smooth, sandstone ledge. He lay still.

xxx

There's a common saying entitled: "The bold and strong will survive". That is completely untrue. In fact the 'strong' and 'bold' rarely survive. They plunge headfirst into battle and other perils, while the weak and cowardly fall back, and therefore survive. So the saying should be: "The weak and cowardly will survive". Jarbell was a wonderful, living example of the edited saying.

Jarbell the marten had joined the bandit expedition on the brinks of desperation. He was weak, cowardly and…well, not very helpful in a fighting squad. But he showed a tough exterior to anybody doubting how 'tough' he was. But the fact was, he was more suited for farming instead of fighting.

Maybe that was why he had not directly engaged anyone in battle. In fact he had been edging to a corner, gazing at the boiling spirit of the fighting from a safe place. He was the first beast to see the tumbling rocks nearing their destination. He screeched a warning, but it was lost in the tumult and hullabaloo of the battle and only the fighters near him were apparent to his warning. One such bandit broke away from the skirmish and made for the edge of the ledge. Seizing his chances and being startled by the grim opportunities, he made of for the fleeing outlaw. Catching him by surprise, Jarbell took him from behind; seizing his back, he stumbled of the ledge.

This proved a wise move as the bandits took the bulk of the perils as they skittered down the slope. A granite ledge stopped their rapid descent, and Jarbell disentangled himself from the dead bandit.

"Whew," breathed Jarbell, wiping glassy sheen of his forehead, his knees buckling with relief. "A few MILES to close for my comfort-AAAAAHHHHH!"

The granite crumbled underneath him and he was suddenly in empty air. A fraught scramble and his hands closed over the jutting, jagged remains of the perfidious, treacherous ledge. Jarbell was not a strong beast by any standards; his fingers were already starting to burn with pain. He wouldn't like to take a bet on how much longer he could hold on.

"HHHHHEEEEELLLLLPPPPP!" he bawled. "HHHHHEEEELLLLPPPPP ANYBODY…. HELP…help…" His voice trailed off; for all he knew, nobody else might have even survived the rockslide!

xxx

Beasts who claim that fems are not very useful in battles have never met Maliana Darkstorm.

The female assassin was one of the deadliest in the business. Her skills with most weapons were impressive, at the least; her fluency in five different tongues was helpful, her experience at smooth talk and stealth were put to use. But what was really the danger (or at least for the males) was her beauty.

Males of every species were easily attracted to the gorgeous, evil squirrel, not from any of their faults. She could so easily get in a bedroom with one of her victims, a thrust of a stiletto, job over; let's collect the pay. One of her clients had fallen for her and become useless, or at least for her purposes. Well…he'd been disposed of.

Death was an unsettling experience (especially for the victims), but Maliana treated it like a partner.

When the rockslide made its 'dramatic' entrance, Maliana did not panic. Maliana did not freeze; she did not flutter around helplessly. She took it in stride with a cool head, pretending it to be an emergency routine at the school of assassins she'd been raised in.

A hook and grapple line. A useful item to have with you, and Maliana was caught up in the fashion. She wedged the iron hook between two jagged rocks that bordered the mountainside, her intention to lever herself down the stony slope. It was a safe escape route, except for the thriving possibility that a boulder would fall over the side, and leave Maliana's insides an additional decoration to the stones.

Maliana let the rope fall down the rocky slope. Rolling boulders neared the feminine figure; she had to do this fast. She grabbed the rope as she slid down it, the knotted cord burning her fingers with the swiftness of the descent. Her travel certainly wasn't smooth sailing, as she cut and bruised herself against granite and serrated rocks. Florid fluid traversed down her knees and feet, leaving a crimson trail in her path. The last few meters, she jumped, as the cable didn't extend that far.

In mid-air she positioned her feet correctly and she landed without a waver, though she suffered a few stings from the pressure applied on her fresh wounds. Meanwhile, the rockslide hadn't tired yet, and they gave a wonderful sample of that statement, as a toothed boulder thudded by Maliana's side. The female assassin composed herself from the shock attack, and scuttled underneath a rough, cavern-like shelter.

Underneath the rock ceiling, Maliana sighed with relief as the rumble from above steadied to utter silence. Maliana knew she didn't want to get carried away, flushed with her success, so she went through a common habit of hers: checking her belongings, to see if they were safely secure.

"All daggers…check. Bow and arrow…check. Rations and canteen…check. 'Item Pouch'…check," muttered Maliana. A piercing voice cut through the silence like a knife through butter. Maliana arched her ears, fighting to catch the frantic shriek.

"HHHHHEEEEELLLLLPPPPP!" Maliana blinked. The scream sounded…familiar. Shouldering her bow, she speeded up a gait forward, to investigate, palms on dagger hilts.

The voice grew weaker and weaker, until it was a whisper, riddled with rejection. Maliana paused and sighted up the rise. A marten, a bandit-Maliana could tell by his clothes-struggled to keep a grip on a section of a rock ledge. Maliana could tell he was fighting a losing battle. She gazed upwards, trying to identify the brigand.

…Jarbell. Maliana had always disliked the cowardly thief. Now was the perfect time to get revenge, she theorized. Unsheathing a dagger, she hurled the dagger towards Jarbell's form. Her aim was true and the blade bit into Jarbell's forearm. The marten howled in pain and losing his grip, plummeted towards his destiny. Maliana narrowed her eyes in satisfaction.

Thud! Maliana cringed as Jarbell's body smashed over the spiky rocks, twisted teeth of sandstone burying itself in his flesh and muscles. Blood crimson-hued the jagged landscape around him as the cowardly bandit struggled to free himself. Screams of pain tore out of his throat, echoing around the mountains in horrible shrieks, curdling blood and frosting senses. From behind the cover of a boulder, Maliana gloated triumphantly to herself. He obviously wasn't dead and wouldn't be for quite some time. Two inner struggles tore Maliana's mind apart: to kill him now, or to go on and let him suffer to his death. If she let him go, there was always the chance that a survivor would find him and save his life. But then, Mr. X, the survivor, might not even exist. Even if he would, it would take him time to get to the present scene, and by then Jarbell might have already lost enough blood to finish him off, or he might even be dead already. And who said Mr. X would be on his side anyways? If it were a member from the caravan, he would hate Jarbell to the core, and let his life dwindle away, if it hadn't already. And the other bandits disliked the gutless thief too, so that went for them too. The chances for Jarbell were practically nil, and even if he did survive, Maliana wouldn't have trouble killing him. And with that decision, Maliana slithered among the treacherous rocks, forward.

Maliana had gone some hundred paces, when the trail she had been following began to lower downwards. The chances of dangers multiplied, and Maliana began watching her feet very carefully. At some points she did trip and fall, scratching the tissue of her arms and legs, and adding other scars on her limbs to her growing collection. The dangerous female swore vociferously, but quickly composed herself and continued walking.

Gradually, the loop of land Maliana had been traveling on morphed into a narrow ledge bordering the mighty mountain slopes. From what Maliana could see, the ledge was more like a type of bib encircling the mountain's waist. Having not been presented with a better idea, she followed the ledge.

"Darn it," exploded Maliana after endless minutes of walking. "Isn't there someone that survived this da rockslide!" Her eyes wandering away from her chosen route, she tripped over something soft. Crawling to her feet and nursing her new bruises, she inspected the body lying across the middle of the ledge.

It was a gray-furred squirrel, obviously on in his seasons. His clothing was simple and tinted with a distinct sandy shade, so Maliana judged he wasn't a bandit. A piece of cloth was pinned to his tunic. On it was a series of letters written in a curling script. If Maliana had known how to read, she could have deciphered the symbols: D-E-V-N-A-M.

The next chain of actions unfolded in the bat of an eyelid. As Maliana curiously leaned over the wizened squirrel, he unexpectedly opened an eyelid. In a flash, the squirrel had thrown himself upon Maliana, and the two figures wrestled among the width of the ledge. The male had caught the assassin by surprise, but now she began to overrule his sudden advantage with the skill and strength of her body. Slowly, but surely, she began pushing Devnam to the edge of the ledge where he would fall to his demise.

xxx

Falling…the whoosh of air set Cyan's hair (and uniform) in turmoil. His carefully laundered (and scrubbed) uniform that had been ruffled and bloodstained from the battle, now billowed out of his place as the rushing air increased its velocity. Cyan still had a spear in his hand and he struggled to fix the length of the pole between the two sides of the mine-hole he had fallen into.

"_Sah," panted Cyan. "There's a band of jolly rocky, but not really-um, whasamacallit- steep mountains blocking our flippin' progress."_

"_Sah-Hmmm. At least you have some respect for your elders," Devnam laughed. _

The hare twisted in the air and brought his spears downwards of his body, a horizontal rod. He waited for an opportunity to wedge the spear butt and point between the two sides. As he struggled to save his life, the memories of the battle came rushing back to him.

"_Eulalia," cried Cyan spirit-fully, running a bandit through with his spear. The criminal collapsed to the rocks, unsuccessfully attempting to staunch the flow of blood from his abdomen. For good measure, Cyan slit his throat. However, despite the dead bandit, the "posse" group was losing- very badly. Devnam, Cyan, and two other guards were the only ones left standing against the bandits, whose numbers went over a score._

_A sleigh of five bandits traipsed across the battlefield, weapons leveled toward Cyan. Even with youthful ignorance and recklessness (not to mention boldness), Cyan knew he could not withstand the outnumbered charge. Bearing full speed on his athletic figure, Cyan tore across the rocky field. So focused was he on looking behind his shoulder, he didn't see the looming opening of the mine…_

_It hadn't evn been there before-he hadn't evn seen it until he was falling down into the dark hole, sucking him in it's depths of darkness, the opening just wide enough for his torso to fit in._

SSSSSSSRRRRHHHH! A grating sound split the air, as the spear grounded to a stop, crimson point and worn butt fixated between the sides of the mineral mine. Cyan balanced on the pole as he cursed the day he had been made a guard of the fire mountain. It had been nothing of much significant value, an adolescent treated and raised in the ways of the mountain being promoted to an honorary position. But if this was going to be an ordinary day for a 'guard', well…(no comments available).

Snap! The spear broke in two under Cyan's weight, and the hare plummeted downwards, lower into the depths of the mine.

"AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH…."his scream was lost in the absorbing blackness.

Thud! Cyan sat up, ruefully massaging his buttocks. When the pain of the impact had vanished, Cyan began to inspect his surroundings. He had slid down a slope of soil and stone on his bottom. Now he glimpsed speckles of light glinting in a distant spot. He began making his way toward it, while dusting his uniform, which was beyond repair.

As he approached his destination, Cyan identified it as an outlet from which the light of the day shone through. Reaching it, he squirmed through the narrow crack. After some minutes of uncomfortable struggling, Cyan broke out in the rays of the sun. Just as he raised his head to note his environs, the weight of an ebony creature careened into him, pinning him to the ground.

It was a wolverine, her fangs seeking blood and flesh for her starving belly. Her nigrescent, shaggy coat of fur bristled with ferociousness and aggressiveness. Her seeking claws shredded Cyan's uniform and opened gashes on his chest.

Cyan scrambled to his feet, or attempted to. The weight of the wolverine bore down on him and he was unable to move a muscle. The predator's jaws encircled Cyan's throat, prepared to give him eternal credit. In a desperate move, Cyan screamed as loud as he could, his last chance echoing among the alpine mountains.

xxx

Kendall squirmed uncomfortably in the encasing net that served as his prison. The brainy hare peered around at the battle that ensued over the uneven ledge. The forces of good and evil, bandits and travelers clashed, amongst bristling weapons and fresh split blood. Screams of agony retched around the surrounding region.

Kendall sighed dolefully; a bustling battlefield was no place for a scholar to be. Why he'd come along on the trip to recover that turncoat mouse, he'd never figure out. He was an admired scholar at the mountain, an excellent poet and an exceptional mathematician. He liked being more intelligent then the beasts around him, but there were other young beats who didn't care much about smarts. Strength, skill with weapons, recklessness…those were the things potential mates looked for, not the benefits of marrying some snotty, prissy scholar. And when the opportunity came for a touch of adventure and a taste of proving himself, Kendall digested it. Now he wished he hadn't joined the travel. What had been a bloodless expedition, was now morphing into the nightmares of a peaceful soul.

Kendall had been caught in a wicket woven net, early in the skirmish. Other prisoners were bunched up next to him, forced to bend their limbs in the form of a sphere. The glint of freedom still sparkled with light and the prisoners struggled earnestly. Brainless idiots, mused Kendall mentally. Don't they know that our "jailers" have a line of tolerance?

Sure as pie, when one of the younger travelers that had been caught jeered at a battling bandit, the outlaw swiftly slit his opponent's throat and walked toward the insolent youth.

"Ho Ho, I like your spiri' yeng un', baht unfertenately this ain't the place fer it," warbled the gloating bandit in broken speech submerged in a rustic accent. He freed a leather whip (its lashing tip dyed in sea salt) from around his waist, his eyes narrowing to malevolent slits. Raising the whip above his head, he brought it down with a snap on the jeerer's back. The hare screamed in pain under the gearing impact. Blood began to stain his clothes.

At this point, the bandit was interrupted by the falling rocks. Kendall barely had time to glance up, before the ledge was smothered in a thick blanket of granite. Having no course of action but to lay where he was and hope for the best, Kendall did just that, letting Fate juggle his life.

SHATTER! Rocks smashed into the grounds alongside Kendall. The sharp edges threatened to prick the scholar's body, but they seemed to have formed an exact outline of his body along his un-athletic body. Kendall drew his breath in his unbelievable luck.

The scholar, his eyes brimming with joyful tears, jumped to his feet and started roaring like a rabid swine. Just then he heard a whistling resonance from above.

He glanced up just in time to see a falling stone, not close to the size of a boulder but larger than a pebble, plummet toward him. The rock smashed against his weak forehead, and sweet, obsidian darkness swirled around him, as he plummeted into unconsciousness and imaginary arms embraced him, welcoming him to the dreamless realm.

xxx

Geoniyo punched upwardly by surprise and caught the bandit in his pudgy gut. The villain coughed in pain and Geoniyo scrambled out of his grasp.

Slabs of ore and quarry, cobblestone and bedrock, rained from above in a thick downpour. Torrents of granite threatened to crush Geoniyo underneath their smothering grapple, the monsoon of boulders bouncing and rolling off the serrated slopes of the mountain. Geoniyo weaved his way through the mass of spikes with reflexes that seemed to bloom out of the air. His feet moved in a blur of sidesteps and jumps, and sometimes he went along with the flow of the rockslide, tumbling and rolling haphazardly over the incline.

In some lunatic twist of fate, Geoniyo reached a desolate peak of the mountain range that was not marauded by declining boulders. Geoniyo was utterly exhausted; when he reached a safe spot on the peak he immediately lay down on it, his breath coming out in ragged grasps. Needles of pain stabbed at Geoniyo's rib cage, and he went into a light doze for a few moments, his head inclined to one side and billows of air emitting from his nostrils. Sunlight shimmered on the auburn hairs of his eyebrows, as the youth drifted away from the present world.

When he awoke a few minutes later, vigor had returned to his body and his senses were pleasantly refreshed. He decided to explore down the mountain to check if anybody else had survived. He didn't really know what to hope for. Beside Devnam and a few other travelers, he didn't really know anybody else from his group and he didn't imagine he'd want to encounter another of those 'pleasant' bandit subjects.

Geoniyo slowly levered himself down the side of the peak, biasing handholds threatening to pitch him at any given moment. A few seconds later, they did just that.

"#$," swore the young hare, as he fell through the air. He approached a smooth arch of sandstone, and he bounced to it on his bottom. The impact knocked the breath out of his lungs and he slid down it on his rear at breathtaking speed. Catapulting over a bend, he sailed through the air, his full-throated cries lost in the breeze.

His landing was soft and he wasn't even shaken. Stumbling to his full length, he glanced at the furry object that saved his life.

He was near an opening at the base of the mountains. Endless plains of sand shifted to his right, and to his left toward the lethal mountains. A guard he dully recognized from the expedition lay sprawled next to him, his uniform torn and stained with blood. His furry landing happened to be a wolverine which had been instantaneously been slain when jagged rocks on the ground had been driven into its spine from the weight of Geoniyo's landing. From what Geoniyo could tell, the guard and wolverine had been tussling when Geoniyo dropped-the word being used literally-in.

The guard (which was about Geoniyo's age) jumped to his feet and extended a hand. "Thanks-a mah good sah," he smiled reassuringly at his savior.

Geoniyo did not take so easily to the kindred spirit. He eyed the offered hand suspiciously and did not make a move to shake it.

"What'cha name?"

"Ah go by Cyan. Ye's?"

"Geoniyo."

There was an awkward silence until Cyan spoke again.

"Ah…Ah guess we should chec' fer jolly other beasts that might have survived this absoballyflippinlutely rockslide…" he trailed off uncertainly.

"After ye."

The duo traipsed across the slopes, Cyan in the lead and Geoniyo not far behind, trailing along uncertainly.

They walked along in silence, skirting perfidious landscape and rounding suspicious holes in the ground. At one point they developed a system of exploring. Both of them set off in different directions and kept in touch with each other by random yells. Geoniyo had no wish to be Cyan's traveling companion; the next time they would split up, he would make good on his "no-return" policy.

"Right-o, ye'll hea' that a wa', and I'll be a goin' jolly eas'. Agree'?" asked Cyan.

Geoniyo rolled his eyes at the guard's dreadful hare vocabulary. "Whatever."

Geoniyo was soon free of his irritating cohort and walking along at a steady pace, rounding the bases of the mighty mountain. He quickened his gait when he heard Cyan's voice call. He did not answer.

As he avoided a rock rising out of the ground, he gasped in disgust and bile rose fast in his throat at the scene before him. He fell in a swoon.

xxx

Naze Arron buried his javelin in the teal feathered, large bird that dropped to the ground, blood spurting all over her magnificent plumage.

A shower of gray lockets swirled around the marten's head before they settled in place. Seasons had taken their toll on the devious villain- his eyes were rimmed with dark shadows, his muscles were still there but had started to go to waste, and now there were many lines that creased his harsh face. Since departing with the survivors of the avalanche (the fatso named Henrick, the toothless idiot called Amberkan, and himself) he had had a blossom of luck of running into the Murdock Empire. The Murdock Empire, as it was called, was made of chains of fortresses and hideouts of the evil, vermin, and scum of the land. They were all very much disciplined and skilled in the art of war and hoped one day to be able to outweigh the forces of Good in the surrounding kingdoms and re-institute the whole land and sea.

The founder and master of this large domain of around 100,000 veterans and warriors rarely showed her face. Her orders to her minions were carried by-afterwards brainwashed-messengers and she had her own set of private rooms in one of the main fortress of the Murdock Empire-The Magnalia Fortress.

The empire of evil had already launched several attacks against surrounding villages and communities with flushed victories. Their Lady stressed to take it slow, so they had not yet opposed any of the larger armies of the surrounding realms. But the day would come…

The Lady had seven generals, each wielding large amounts of power. Naze Arron was one of those generals; as a superior officer he had to admit that he was very impressed with his part. The army had modernized weapons, "inventions" some called it. If there was a chance for evil to prevail, it was with the Murdock Empire. However, Naze was hardly on a raid, but the leader of a hunting party three scores strong.

"So. You got yourself a kill." Naze glanced up at the speaker with the droll voice. Darion, his adopted mink son, twirled a light spear (that had several large fish-trouts-impaled upon it) between his paws.

Naze suppressed a shudder. Though he had tried to be close to his adopted son, things had always been tense between them, and the number of hollering arguments and fights between them led into the two-digit numbers. Worst, Darion was now stronger than him, and a whiz with weapons and battle tactics. Their last encounter that had earned hits had left Naze with a few broken fingers and a broken collarbone and nose while Darion had a few scrapes and a partly swollen lip to his name. Anybody could tell the son was abusing his father. The soldier's respect shrank for Naze and blossomed for Darion.

Naze had nightmares about his life dwindling at Darion's hands. Frankly, he would be more pleased if he took his own life then dying at his son's doing. But it was starting to look like the only way to prevent that was to kill himself right now.

"Should we head back, sir?" asked a soldier, stiff at his salute. Naze bristled with indignity; the soldiers under his command were starting to regard Darion as the real power. Well, they did have their reasons. On one occasion a few days ago, a soldier had questioned Naze about a possible route of action. As Naze was on the verge of answering, Darion had cut off his stammer and replied his answer, cool as you like. The soldier had obeyed.

"Hmm, we prolly should or this old man won't be able tah to hold himself on his feet," smirked Darion, nudging his adopted father.

"Oh, you'd be surprised, Darion," retaliated Naze. "But I forgot, a lot of stuff surprise your miniscule brain," he added, mockingly. Darion sneered in response.

Their (currently) resident fortress was not far and they soon reached it.

Fort Warflash was one of the best strongholds considering defense positions. Its alabaster structure was surrounded by a wide moat that did not contain water, but a type of greasy slime imported from a nearby marsh. It was also poisonous and not a pleasant welcome for intruders.

Multiple towers sprouted from the building and lots of archer windows were available. The gate was heavily shut with sixteen heavy iron bolts and a cargo of timber backed it up. The drawbridge had loose boards for thieves or infiltrators (the soldiers knew the exact locations of the loose boards). Inside there were also a lot of trick doors and arches you couldn't pass underneath without a password. 'Safe' was an understatement for this garrison.

'''Hoy the fort," hollered Darion as the group approached their temporary home. A few seconds later, two soldiers appeared on a balcony overlooking the moat and surrounding lands. On distinguishing their visitors, they yanked on a bar and lowered the drawbridge.

After identifying and avoiding the loose boards, the party split up and headed to their separate quarters. Darion trailed after Naze.

After some maneuvering some corridors and passageways with minimal difficulty, father and son reached their accommodations in the form of a large room with twin divans, furniture, personal equipment, etc. Darion plumped down on a cotton cot and let the sunrays from the open windows splay their radiance across his furry chest. After a few minutes of silence, Darion blinked, as if he suddenly remembered an important piece of knowledge.

"Oh. Oh, yeah. Dad, don't you think you're getting a mite old fer yer…job…" The question trailed off in suspenseful silence.

Naze swallowed nervously; he had a bad feeling about this. A very bad feeling. Gulping down another nervous Adam's apple, he asked, "What do you mean?"

"I mean, would you mind if ye handed down your rank to yer sweet son," taunted Darion, fluttering his eyebrows dramatically.

"Why I never thought of it that way-" Naze was abruptly cut off as Darion plunged a concealed dagger in his neck. He brought his mouth to the ear of the dying general and whispered:

"Well I did."

xxx

Dun, dun, dun. Yeah, Darion's the main bad guy in this story. And for the reviews of these chapters I would like to make two requests, if you do notice any typos or stuff like that please report them to me and I would also like to know which of the new characters you like and which you dislike. Thanks! Also, I know my hare accent sucks; I know it's really horrible so I would appreciate a few tips on it (since I'm really bad at accents that's why there's like no moles in this story-I'm sorry all you people that like moles).

Agent D: I hope you are so far pleased with the edits I have made to chapter 24 of "Orphen". You got hurt by an ambulance? That's like ironical. Devnam and Lukas are actually pretty important characters in this story but I can't really decide since I will have a lot of characters who will be the main character. Yeah. You know I partly chose green eye for my character because my own eyes are green so yeah. White's okay I guess.

Grubswiper: maybe I forgot to mention it to you but I was gone for three weeks at camp so I was unable to review anything you posted in the month or so. Anyways I did review your latest one-shots.

Avlblu: I can tell that you like parentheses, there were about three sets of them mixed into your review (). Trust me, once I get to the part where I left off my human story, there will be like no references to human and whatnot, so it will be a much smoother ride.

Mr. Nice Guy, The flamer, and…Jack: without The Holy War that was an incredibly short review. Usually I have to use the scroll bar to read your review. And please try to report as many typos as you can find Flamer, since I'm planning on re-editing all I have posted up once I reach like chapter seven. And thanks for being a softy, Jack (yes, the world needs softies)!


	7. Chapter VI

CHAPTER VI: REUNION ON THE SLOPES

Author's note: After this chapter, I think it will take me a longer time to update-I don't know I just sort of think it will. However, after this chapter and the next chapter, there won't be any more human mistakes cause I hadn't written that far in my human fic. YAAAAYYY! Also a few other notes for this chapter-the riddle is really bad, I know, I suck at rhyming and stuff like that, so sorry. Also I know the Lady was too easily convinced by Darion and that scene wasn't very realistic but I can't help it. Also some of my character's accents like Maliana's may have become more pronounced cause that happens when someone is scared, surprised, excited, etc.

xxx

"Shi-…" Lukas trailed off in exasperation. He _did not_ like mountains. Why did he have to save any_ supposable_ survivors and act the dashing hero?

_Because it's your fault if they don't get out alive, so shut the bloody hell up and keep going,_ he chastened himself sternly. Taking his own advice to heart he continued his way across the mountainside, calculating his footing trepidatiously. below him a few ravines extended in chains and numerous boulders marked their banks.

"Stop. R-r-right there." The voice tremored fearfully, its origins untraced. Lukas glanced around, uncertain what action to establish. As he was not very experienced in the likes of danger and perils on the road, he didn't have a spot of knowledge on what he should do. Was it a surviving bandit, lying in wait, to put an arrow through his skull? But then why would the voice of a seasoned veteran tremble uncertainly?

Well, Lukas was at least correct in assuming it was a bandit.

Beneath one of the rocks nearest to Lukas, Wayak swore foully, as his stone went off mark and whirled an inch to the right of Lukas's whiskers. lukas jumped in fear and surprise and whirled around. Taking luck in his hand, Wayak lay in the dust underneath the rock that had been entrenched in his spine, pretending to blend in with his surroundings. At least he'd had time to get the rock out of his back.

Finding Wayak wasn't a particularly difficult job for Lukas. Though Wayak had been able to remove the granite from his open wound, he had not yet attempted to staunch the gush of blood. Crimson dust identified Wayak's surroundings, but Lukas did not yet show any sign to let the former bandit learn that he had identified his position. What was he supposed to do now? Running away seemed to be all Lukas's frosted brain could register to his limbs. But then the sniper would get him good that time! Lukas retreated back into the shadows of the towering, granite formations of the mountainside.

Wayak watched Lukas's actions from underneath the dust. He realized what was unfolding, and grinned feral-like. The little twerp was going to get it. Wayak loved nothing better than a successful kill…

_Stop_, Wayak commanded his brain. He was supposed to be reformed after the rockslide. The bandit life was over and now he was a kind soul. Right…?

Wayak walked up the frightened mouse, stumbling momentarily over by hte serious wound in his back, and said, "Hi, I'm Wayak; what's your name?" _Yeah, brilliant introduction, _thought Wayak.

xxx

"What the?" Devnam struggled in the rising dust, as his squirrel assailant pinned him between two rocks. She slowly cradled his feet and arms in a well-known wrestling move, pinpointing his physical limits so he wouldn't be able to move a muscle. There was no chance if he wasn't going to speak up. Grunting with exertion, he squealed out words in a ramble of almost incoherent syllables.

"Help…stop, what…are you…do-…-ing…?"

At this unexpected retort, Maliana loosened her grip and tried her own verbal skills, "What'd ya mean! Ya're th' un' that jus' like, attack'd meh! And now ye're asking meh tah stop!" The outburst was followed by an unsatisfactory response from Devnam's part.

"Sorry." The word was emphasized at the end of the syllables giving the impression that the word had been said as a last resort, a haughty defeat. All in all, it was not Maliana's idea of a 'sorry'. Despite that, she released him and clambered to her feet.

"Ye kno', the only reas'n I'm lettin' ye away, is tha' prolly there ain't nobody els' that a survived," Maliana stated in a matter-of-fact voice.

"Thanks for the reassurance," intoned Devnam sarcastically. "Now what say we check if there is anybody else with a beating heart." Then as if a light bulb had gone on in Devnam's mind, he turned around. "Are you the famous Darkstorm assassin?"

Maliana looked resentful at being called by her last name. "Ye, that's mah but I do prefer bein' called Maliana?"

"But-but you're a squirrel. What are you doing fraternizing with the scum of the earth, those unclean vermin?"

Maliana sighed-this occasion had arisen to her on previous encounters with the so-called good beasts. "Look, ya buffoon-I'm a cont'act kille'. Sometime's I'm 'ired by them goody-goody beas-yah know mouse, squirre', o't'rs, badge's, 'ares and their lot-kill one of those "vermin" leaders or sumthin' like that. Other times "vermin" to kill anothe' contender or a goodbeast or sumthin' like that. So they be all equal im my eye'."

"Yes, but, good beasts would never hire you to kill another good beasts but vermin would have no conscience about it," retaliated Devnam.

"Don't matter, they all pay me pretty well. And if ye keep chattin' away I'm gonna put a knife through yous heart." And with that agreement set they continued in silence down the mountain slope seeking other survivors.

Some strange power drew them to their recent battlefield. Encountering dead corpses with colorful odors and negative images was not a pleasant experience, but with a hand clasped to their nostrils, they ploughed on. However it was worth it as they did encounter one living scholar.

As Kendall's sight returned, he felt hands grab his limbs at pull him upwards. At this unexpected occurrence he blinked blearily and dished out his most brilliant remark, "Whotsit?"

xxx

Jarbell's senses came back in a dawdling manner, blaringly explosively at him. Scenes came rushing back at him, from the attack on the caravan to his fall from the ledge. This event still confused him- a dagger buried itself in his arm and then he slammed to the ground. Who had thrown the dagger? He didn't have the inkling of an idea.

And then-Ouch!-he'd fallen to his 'welcoming' platform. When he came awake he could still feel the teeth of granite wedged in his back. It hurt like hellfire! He squirmed uncomfortably on the spikes, when bloodcurdling screams tore through the air like loose javelins. A form appeared at the corner of his field of view. It was screaming in the most terrifying manner, cries emitting from his throat in a rapid, unstoppable routine. Only after a few moments did Jarbell realized that the figure was screaming at the sight of his wounded body.

The next few scenes were dully mesmerized by Jarbell's mind. The hare (for it was obviously a hare judging by his voice and appearance) had been hooting for a few minutes when another hare intruder entered the stage. He also seemed horrified at the display that lay before him, but he recovered more swiftly and attempted to soothe his comrade. Then he approached Jarbell. Before the anonymous hare reached him, Jarbell lost his grip on consciousness and promptly blacked out.

It seemed like a few minutes, but in reality it was a row of hours before Jarbell began twitching his way back to the real world.

He was on a long length of cloth attached to four poles, one at each corner, dug firmly in a patch of soil in the midst of rocks. The two hares hovered over the edge, doing something to his back. They turned him over and began a 'unique' medical episode that Jarbell remembered through orbs peering under heavy eye slits.

Cyan withdrew the point of a broken sword that he had recuperated from a stretch of land stretching amidst the battlefield. Though the past soldier had no experience whatsoever in medical procedures, he started cutting into the flesh of Jarbell's back in order to recover the spikes of rock imbedded inside, while Jarbell retched in agony. If Geoniyo (who was alongside Cyan) had had any more experience in medical/surgery procedures, he would have reprimanded Cyan for digging the possibly dirty shard of sword in their victim's flesh, who could possibly get infected, and possibly die from an infected wound. But since Geoniyo did not have any so-called knowledge, Cyan wasn't warned and continued on recklessly.

Even the burly guard was smart enough to cut an "X" mark over his chosen place when he couldn't reach far enough. Blood gushed out drenching both "surgeons" in dripping liquid.

"Ewww," recoiled Geoniyo instantly. "I'll sit right over there, and he's all yours, Cyan."

"Gee, thanks," japed Cyan sarcastically. "I'm jolly honored."

After retrieving all the jagged pieces of rock out of Jarbell's back (Jarbell ran out of saliva from too many screams), Cyan was mystified in the decision of his next move. This time Geoniyo came to the rescue.

"I hope you don't call that a job done," he glanced at Jarbell's back. "It looks worse than before."

"Well, what do you flippin' propose?" Cyan snapped back moodily.

Geoniyo was quick with a response. "I think we should like maybe get somthing like some water to pour on his back...you know cause there is probably some garbage left over from dirt and busted veins and some rocks you probably overlooked. How 'bout you go get a liter or two of water from a near stream using your ruined clothes as a makeshift bucket?"

Cyan nodded and hurried off, unsure if he was doing the right thing. Geoniyo had his own doubts, too.

A minute or two later, Cyan arrived in a pant, trying to avoid too much water to penetrate through his 'cloth' bucket. While the ex-guard applied the freshwater to Jarbell's back Jarbell had now passed out cold due to pain (which helped the duo greatly) while Geoniyo began unrolling strips of cloth for bandages.

Roughly ten minutes later and as the sun set behind the horizon, Jarbell was unconscious and firmly bandaged. Geoniyo was the first one to question their situation.

"Now what do we do?"

xxx

The figure crept beside the open barrack door, listening to the steady thrum of footsteps from inside. The ferret from inside, Major Jievasco, walked outside in a casual manner, to be met by the form shrouded in an ebony cloak.

Darion withdrew a glistening knife in one lightning quick move. He pinpointed the blade, and thrust the slice of steel at the Major's chest. The aged veteran was quick in his response, and with the sword knot still shaking, he had a saber in his hand, slanted so it covered his chest.

Darion had expected these types of reflexes, and had stopped his knife a few centimeters from the ferret's chest. Now he twisted the hilt and swiftly plunged it under the sword in the Major's abdomen. The soldier did not even have time to register the face of his attacker clearly, before he fell against the frame of the door. Stone dead.

The young mink ticked of his fingers the numbers of assassination attempts he had caused today. His victims were all his adoptive father's most trusted friends/advisors. Tuckalinger, Molh, Fabya, Lingol, and now Jievasco. All dead. Now Darion had a clear slate for rebellion in his command.

But it was not his command yet. Nobody yet new of the events that had come to grant in his father's room. However, when Darion planned something big, he planned well.

Tomorrow at the hint of dawn, the Lady would come and visit this fortress along with her other six generals. It would be something known as the "Con-Clave". There, Darion would have a chance to get his bearing as general. While the Lady had thought of Naze as a fair general, she also admired ruthlessness and ambition in a body. Darion hoped she would see it in him.

Humming to himself, Darion made his way down the dimly lit corridors of the fortress. When he got his position (which he hoped he'd get) his first move would probably be…maybe massacre a famous tribe to show the world his power? He didn't know. But one thing he told himself was to be patient and not plan too much ahead. That could lead to disaster.

xxx

Night hovered like a devious wisp, slipping away through the landscape and clouding the air with darkness. When dawn cast its brilliance of happiness over the series of mountains, as dew hung suspended from granite spikes and chirping birds plummeted airborne over a picture of serenity and refreshing cheerfulness. However, this emotion was not shared by everybody, as Maliana grumpily shouldered past her two companions.

"Come on," she spoke tetchily dragging both Devnam and Kendall by their ripped shirts. "If ye wan' tah find those two peopl' I saw, ye better hurry." That evening (after they had gotten acquainted with Kendall) Maliana had sighted the figures of two survivors. Now they endured the twists and turns of their chosen path, descending in high hopes.

And they were not disappointed, at least not at first.

Wayak glanced at Maliana, a surge of familiarity reflecting off her. As he had not still recovered from his hit, he couldn't sort out all of his memories. However, the same could not be said for Maliana as she dropped to one knee, clasped her hand over her head and mumbled through her wall of draping hair the sacred testimony to the leader of the bandit clan. Though she sorely did not believe in this ridiculous religion of the bandit clan she had momentarily joined (she was just trying to have some company while getting away from this godforsaken desert) she went along with the ridiculous chant for the leader just to be safe.

"Oh, Lord of my devotion, soul of my love, star of intellectual, King off all evil, undisputed leader of-"

"That's enough," commanded Wayak; how in the name of Dark Forest was he supposed to live up to his name? It wasn't as easy as just telling his group that he had resigned on his role of evil. "I want to introduce my new friend, Lukas."

"Yeah, were such good friends we almost killed each other a few hours ago," grumbled Lukas drolly.

"Hey, that was a mistake-don't hold it against me!"

"Lukas," burst out Devnam excitedly, "Where have you been? Did you really kill Joluff? You know we have to bring you back…"

"Hold your beans, old squirrel." Lukas stemmed the throw of outburst. "Er, well that was an accident…and you know I really would prefer not…going back-"

Devnam stared back defiantly. "You know, we-or at least our survivors-came all this way to get you back, and by hells-teeth, you're going to come back with us all the way! I don't care if they hang you on the spot-"

"**Well I do care!" **Lukas hollered with all the capable velocity of his lungs. His face turned red in a spite of anger as he glared daggers at Devnam. he clenched a fist and shook it impudently in the old squirrel's face. "You're taking my dead body back."

"Well that's all right with me," snarled Devnam, "it sems you don't have a problem with killing beasts."

"That was manslaughter!" Lukas yelled back and whirled around and stalked off, his fists whitening from the pressure he was putting on. he would never cry, not for anything since he had become an orphan, but he could hate the old beast to the dredges of his power...

"Well, that helped a lo'." Everybody turned to look at Maliana, who had just spoken. "Seriously, why do the lucky o'es always 'ave to be idiots? We don't even 'now where we ar', and you're already creatin' dissent among our own team! To get out of t'is o'e 'eck of a mess, we'll have to work 'oget'er, despite past differences. And to do that we first 'ave 'o round up any possible survivors, and t'en t'y to find out our location. Screaming at eac' other isn't a great start for t'e plan.

"I know most of you 're gonna to retort to t'is, since I'm a notorious assassin. Yes, it is tru'-I've probably killed more people t'an you've seen in the past decade. It is mah profession. But like I mentioned before, we'll 'ave to forget about our background and focus on the present. And when a better time to start t'en frickin now?"

There was a lingering silence, until Wayak began to applaud. "Wonderful speech, Mal." Then mentally, _She's right. I do have to put my background behind me._

Over the reunion of sorts, Kendall had been as quiet as a mouse, a dead mouse. This was not the prime condition for a scholar of his level. He was thrown in a death trap with a bunch of shifty types, renegade killers, cutthroats, and assassins. And the worst of it was, he wasn't showing off his intelligence, but instead hiding in the shadows of killers!

And with a few arguments and bristling fur, the small band decided to sweep the mountains one more time for missing survivors. It sure was a good thing they did.

The crimson sun was already weaving the opaque swath of light over the granite region, when the quintet (with Maliana leading the way) reached a small grotto in the side of a length some cavern they were following. At first, they passed over it taking it as an insignificant discovery. That was before incoherent noises began drifting from its entrance.

xxx

_768x + 4532a, a x, x11_

When Kendall was bored, he resorted to mathematical challenges. It was his best subject, after all…

_'kay, let's see._ 768 times 11 would be (7680 + 768) 8448. 8448 + 453 would be…8901. Then 89012a. So, 8901 divided by two would be 4450.1. So…4450.1 a. La-di-dah, case solved.As routine as that,Kendall switched his brain mode to the present. Call it perfect timing, but the fact remains the same; Kendall raised his head just in time to witness the arrival of Cyan.

The brawny hare guard left Jarbell and Geoniyo in the cavern they had taken as temporary shelter, to scout for other survivors-one last time before they'd leave.

Shreds of stained pallid uniform hung on mud clots in the guard's wake, as Cyan bulled his way through a puddle of dirt and muck. Keeping his eyes on the grass-trampled earth in front of him, he did not foresee the attack at his midriff coming from the side.

Wayak buckled a knee over Cyan's chest and rasped in his face, "State your name, business, and…past whereabouts."

"Cool yer jets, old sah," gasped Cyan despite the knee on his chest. "I ain't mean ya or yer jollymates any harm. I'm with another two, and we was looking fer any absobally lutely survivors. Lee'me explain…"

Meanwhile, in the slim grotto on the mountainside, Geoniyo huddled in a shuddering ball of thriving life as Jarbell began to cough and sputter, kicking in his awakening bell. It was a few minutes later that he actually awoke. "Ain't ye the one that took that rock outta mah back?"

"Ye could say so."

Jarbell struggled with the confusing wisps of remembrances that he collected from his ordeal. His back still sizzled from his injury. Even though Jarbell wasn't seasoned in the ways of slaughtering, he had the common knowledge of healing grievous injuries-to some limited point.

"Did ye put maggots on my back?" Jarbell held his breath expectantly; every veteran knew the help of maggots in ones' flesh wounds as it ate away the bad flesh, leaving the good intact; it also sucked out the infected blood.

"Heck, no," replied Geoniyo puzzled (Why would he even ask such a question?). "All I did was take the shards out of your back, bathe the wound, and bandage your back! What, you want to get infected with insects crawling over your muscles-"

Jarbell let out an almostferal roar. "_God dam$ you_!" he shrieked, his voice pitching even another few levels of volume. "I'LL BE PROBABLY DEAD AND PALE BEFORE THE SUN RISES TOMORROW, THANKS TO YOU! I DON'T NEED TO LOOK AT THE WRINKLES IN MY PALM TO FIGURE I HAVE A SHORT LIFELINE!"

xxx

The Lady had come to Fort Warflash!

The news sprouted wings and soared with the excited fortress inhabitants. Preparations immediately gave underway. They would surely welcome their leader with open hands!

Every brick and stone was polished 'till its luster glittered like a bucket of diamonds. Banners with positive comments about their chief hung from numerous pedestals and balconies, statues and columns were painted with a fresh powder mashed from pyrite gold, and studded with gems and crystals. Sculptures of quartz shone at every doorway and all the residents were bursting with their best military (and elegant) uniforms, buttoned tight and filled with golden threaded shoulder caps. At the last minute, a huge silver and red flag was mounted on the highest balcony. Caught in the fiery breeze, it flashed its red jaguar on a silver background-the Lady's symbol of power and cunning. the jaguar was a thing of legend and myth from the times of past, but the Lady believed its race still thrived in the present...

As the morning sun beamed its brilliance of heat and light over the rim of the faraway mountains, the Lady's carriage drew to a close in front of the moat.

And what acarriage it was! With wheels of curved, alabaster platinum and frames of molten quartz, the silk sunshades gleamed in the spectacular sunset. Dazzingly clothed huge badger slaves worked the wheels, their eyes downset in the splendor of evil. Buckles of iron chains, rusting at the tip, had their muzzles clamped together in an albeit form of cruelty as blood pooled ,from their many wounds endured by the whips, dripped off their bodies and collected to the ground in a crimson puddle. Their once glorious striped fur had now the effect of an ancient, rotting stump-something that had once benn big and tall had been subdued to a shell of its former shelf now that nobody had taken care of it. meanwhile, in the background of this barbarism, chosen soldiers scurried all over the chariot shouting orders, relaxing, or whipping the badgers for a running spree. Bodyguards guarded their Lady or even the other six generals that accompanied them in the back of the vehicle.

As those ashen wheels stopped rotating in front of the moat's edge, Fort Warflash's ramparts spewed alive with anxious soldiers. The drawbridge was immediately released. The Lady parked the chariot in front of the moat and assigned some veterans to guard it. Then, with her generals and remaining bodyguards/soldiers, she proceeded across the wooden plank.

Darion watched it all from a high balcony, leaning casually against a window frame. From the eyes of a casual bystander he would have appeared confident about his ordeal, but inside his heart was fluttering like a sizzling pancake.

How would she actually react? How would the soldiers react? Well, he felt more confident about the latter. The warriors under his command had always been negative about Naze, but obeyed him to sacrificing themselves for their young god. But what about the Lady and the other generals; would they feel the same way? He hoped so. But he needn't worry too much now-the Con-Clave would take place around noon. Before that the Lady and her procession would eat lunch, and view what condition the fortress and its residents were in. He'd just enjoy himself until then…

However, when he saw the Lady he began to forget his worries.

She was a tall stature of a ferret, a feminine figure of great beauty. No comparison to all the other pretty ladies Darion had seen at court. Her perilous green eyes glinted dangerously, and her pale face was perfectly designed, more beautiful than anything an expert artist could have even _thought_ of, covered with a light silver fur that semi-glowed in the sun. Her clothes were made of sturdy silk extracted from silkworms and it portrayed her in an elegant figure, but also protecting her from any attack-silk armor was one of the best in the world. Hanging from her ray-skin belt were two light, throwing anelaces. On her back was sheathed a jeweled baselard. The sword was simple and light, but keen and effective.

For the next few hours, the Lady and her delegation patrolled the corridors and hallways of the fort. Tapestries, defense mechanisms, attack mounts, barracks, stables, rooms, and even the kitchens were admired, criticized, commented on, and praised by the visitors. At around noon, a feast was set and the starving allocation fell on the achievements of the kitchen staff. There were several types of breads, each one creatively baked, studded with edible pigments and spices, and stuffed with a concoction of creamy vegetables dipped in gravy sauce. Plates of salads were passed around, crispy, green lettuce leafs in a mix of spinach, chard, mizuna, arugula, frisee, and radicchio, bathed in various vinaigrettes, and sparkled in a down shower of blue cheese with diced nuts and tart berries. There were cheese turnovers with slices of spicy mushrooms drifting in a basin of various creams and sauces, popovers filled with a paste of beans and nuts…and steaks of woodpigeons, squirrels, and other scrumptious woodland animals giving of tantalizing aromas and shimmering with a sheen of sauce.

And the masterpiece of the banquet sat on a crystal plate, surrounded by chopped garlic and baby lettuce: a huge, male grayling. The sleek curves of his body beckoned with a ravenous lust, and even Darion had to withstand extreme pressure to not grab at the delicacy with a passion, as in order to not execute his chances of sparkling in the Lady's eyes.

Dessert was also a big success: jellied croissants and berry tarts were a warm-up for the runner up cranberry flans and the _cake_. It had cinnamon flavors blended with the vanilla and chocolate layers, with a few tinges of custard and fruits here and there. Multicolored frosting covered it like an oil spill on a batch of cookies. Some soldiers dozed off, filled to bursting with food-but not Darion. He was eagerly awaiting each of the Lady's moves, waiting for her notification so the Con-Clave would begin.

"Naze…" The sweet rhythm of the Lady's voice trailed off. Darion's cords tensed. Then he nudged a servant seated next to him he had chosen elaborately for this moment. The servant rose to his feet, trembling out of control.

"General Naze Arron is in his quarters," he stated in a shaking tone.

The Lady raised one dignified eyebrow. "I would have thought he'd show more respect for his commander and get hishide down here. But never mind-he will feel the consequences at the Con-Clave." And with that, the woman and her cohorts swept away.

Darion stayed behind for a few seconds, which, he reasoned, would be enough for the supposedly alive Naze to rise from his room. Then Darion rose from the apprehensive table (they had been announced about the 'change of position' a few minutes before the Lady's arrival) and walked down the passageway the delegation had disappeared.

He had never been allowed to eavesdrop on the other Con-Claves his adopted father had participated in, so the tunnel he crept through stank of dampness, gloominess, dankness and unfamiliarity. Embers glowed in a pile of ashes that overflowed the mahogany torches which were bolted to the walls of the passage, lending a few blazes of flickering light to illuminate Darion's way. After a few minutes, he arrived at the door that led to the chamber where the Con-Clave would begin, apprehensively jittering around.

_Calm down, ye fool,_ he chastised himself_, this ain't the time tah wet yourself_. But he didn't calm down as he saw what lay beyond the corner. A virtual war ensued in his mind as he came face to face with two highly armed guards and their grim frowns.

"What in the name of the Jaguar are you doing down here?" said the guard on the right in a deep, deep voice.Darion quailed a tad then he regained his composure and turned on what he called "The Stare"-a look in the eyes that he found most comon soldiers couldn't avoid and would give in to his demands.

"I have come here for the Con-Clave," he staed in a ringing voice still looking them in the eyes.

Handpicked by the Lady as bodyguards-these obviously weren't common soldiers as they refused to yield. Darion quickly pulled two daggers out of the air and pulled them in front of him and stated in a flat tone:

"You have two options-you yield or you die!"

A guard snorted and they pulled out their swords. The fight was on!

xxx

The eight survivors (including Lukas) sat around a blazing bonfire. After the introductions spread around like wildfire, the group began settling in a more serious argument of what their next move would be. Everybody seemed to have different opinions of what was smart and what was hare-brained (no offence meant to any Cyan or Geoniyo or any of their friends back at the fire mountain).

"I say we head back to the mountain Salamandastron!" Devnam spread his opinion loudly around the group his eyes blazing into Lukas's.

"Er, my dear fellow," cut in Wayak. "Maybe you haven't realized this, but I doubt that Maliana, Jarbell, and myself would be welcome in your home."

"Yeah," put in Lukas feebly, frightened at the prospect of returning to the place where he had murdered a beast. "Plus, we don't know how to get back there."

"Is that an excuse, you felon?" sneered Devnam, "Or can we really not follow the tracks that we left getting here?"

"Desert winds are stron', especially at night, yah eejit," Maliana informed him scornfully. "Any tracks made will 'ave been a wiped out by now."

"Then where should we jolly go?" asked Cyan in a gruff voice. He was not used to getting a ton of people out of a sticky situation that baffled them. Well, of course, the only logical course was to travel until the desert ended, but nobody really knew how to fo that, how long it would take. Plus, Devnam had been the only one out of desert territory in his life and that had been seasons and seasons ago.

"Wait a second," interrupted Kendall. He had finally decided to put his brain to use. His idea had struck him long ago, but he had not voiced it aloud, being to shy and thinking that someone else would come up with the idea. It looked like he would have to talk anyways. "Wayak, you and your band of bandits came from somewhere into this forsaken desert. Devnam, that goes for you and Lukas too."

"Well actually, me and mah group were born and raised in this desert, our headquarters are not far from here. We never asked ye others tah come since ye wouldn't be welcomed there-"

"Wait a second-what's all t'is talking about us staying in a group w'en ahr lives could go separate." Maliana interrupted Wayak. "Us bandits could go to ah clan and ye ot'er guys could a'hitch yer bottoms to yer frickin mountain."

"But…we're still lost," argued Cyan. "Except…if Devnam can help us…" And at this, everybody turned to the aged squirrel.

"Er…well it was a long time ago, you must understand…Okay, okay I'll get on with it. At my approximation, the desert reaches as far as about sixty kilometers…" Devnam stopped and scuffled in his pocket. He came out with a grubby piece of paper. "A friend of mine handed me this riddle that was supposed to guide me through the desert.

Unfortunately I never got to use it, since I was kidnapped by a band of trident-carrying toads and they carried me most of the way on chains and shackled to a pole. When I broke loose and joined Lukas, we were already very close to the fire mountain. I'm sure it'll be able to help us now, though:

_"League by league, dune by dune, wind scores sand,_

_Leaving no track to mark this dry land,_

_Nothing to follow, no escape,_

_Except if you pit yourself in this riddle, hopes agape._

_"The desert is sighted_ _from above, stretching a score of leagues forth,_

_Starting from a mountain in the north._

_Warlike hares will greet you,_

_But you must continue through."_

Here, Devnam stopped at mid-point looking implausible. "Well, I guess everybody knows about Salamandastron. But why did they start there?"

"Our luck," retorted Jarbell who was feeling better. "Now kindly continue on." Devnam shot him a glare, but continued nevertheless:

_"Into the probing wild,_

_You will find a band of evildoers compiled,_

_But let yourself not be tricked,_

_Or you will be nicked."_

Devnam stopped again and scrutinized the former bandits carefully. Letting them away with a spiteful glare, he continued on:

_"Your life hangs on a strand of thread,_

_Chances are lost, for the solitary who will soon no longer have a head,_

_But if you travel in a crowd,_

_Some might be alive at the end, to see a cloud. "_

Devnam stopped for the thrice time. "Well that sounds sorta depressing, and I don't like the emphasize on 'might'…"

"Just get on with it," Geoniyo silenced him. "There hasn't been much talk of getting out of here just threats and warnings." As Devnam was about to start again, Geoniyo chastened him one last time, "And next time don't stop again; read the whole thing through!" The riddle commenced:

_"Set a course for 7 by 5 degrees to the direction,_

_In which the setting of the sun is in a reflection._

_Traipse forward but beware the lizards,_

_Who will feast and capture you even in the middle of a blizzard._

_"The clan of the reptiles and their leader,_

_May be found among the decomposed remains of a cedar,_

_Which you will stumble upon,_

_Where the sands turn red but not from blood of a don._

_"Fight fatigue and thirst as you press on,_

_For the weak will die, while the strong will see the next dawn._

_Leagues forward, you will see your utmost desire,_

_But you cannot halt for your life will go up in fire._

_"The civilization you seek,_

_Will greet you as deceased or weak._

_You have reached your goal,_

_But to what extol?"_

Devnam glanced up, finished. "That's it. We better start cracking up the fifth verse so we can see what direction we should go in. I was never good at geography. Anybody got an inkling of an idea where we should head?"

Everybody shook their heads. Kendall got the impression it was up to him to get everybody out of this forsaken landscape. Clearing his throat, he explained the aspects of the first two lines in the fifth verse, "Well 7 by 5 is _obviously_ 35, degrees in this case. And the sun sets in the west, so 35 degrees to the west would either be around northwest or southwest, and it obviously can't be southwest, because then we'd be going in the direction we just came from, so it has to be northwest.

"We can find out the exact direction if I was provided with a slender piece of metal like a needle and a piece of lodestone, which has a magnetic iron ore, and a basin of water…"

He was brought a shell of rock that resembled a basin, filled with water, a needle from Cyan's uniform, and he himself found some lodestone at the mountain's base. He felt like a schoolmaster as he explained everything he did, "Well, see I'm magnetizing the lodestone by rubbing this needle against it, and if I can place it in this basin of water without breaking the surface tension…" And he lowered it carefully in the basin and gave a small shriek of delight. He broke off a small piece of rock from an outcrop and started scribbling numbers along the rim of the basin. After a small lapse of time, he sat up, delighted and gestured in a direction on the frontier of the desert. "My dear gentlemen," he concluded, "What are we waiting for! Hitch up and let's go!"

xxx

The Con-Clave chamber was a spacious room carved out of obsidian, with a wide, cedar table dominating the center. At the head of the table sat the Lady herself. The chair at the other side of the table was vacant, and Darion, as the host general was supposed to occupy it. There were three chairs on each side of the table, each one occupied by each of the other six generals. Darion registered all this through under his eyelids as he stumbled forward and fell, two daggers in his hand, each covered in blood. But they were not the only thing covered in blood as his whole body was drenched into the crimson liquid and ribbons of flesh fell to the ground. There was a sharp intake of breath all around the room.

"You're not Naze, you're his brat," the Lady denounced him. _Uh-oh,_ thought Darion. He needed some quick interruption.

"I killed Naze and his lackey...and the guards outside this door single-handedly!" added Darion as an afterthought. "He gave hints of not being loyal or useful to you anymore, growing to old, gray whiskers on the outside, fuzzy brain on the inside. My soldiers can vouch for me since their respect for Naze dwindled because of his poor military abilities-"

"You know," the Lady interrupted thoughtfully. "You're right. Last time I went to Warflash, the soldiers were losing respect for Naze and he was getting terribly old. And I remember you, young, superiorly skilled, good leadership, and ambition. And that was quite impressive with the two bodyguards out side the door. Very few beasts in the whole army besides the ones in this room could have done it single-handedly. Well…alright you're General Darion of Fort Warflash, but next time one of my generals is killed by one of his lackeys without my approval, he'll be executed for high treason!"

Darion sat in his chair, feeling a little apprehensive about the other general's actions. He had no need to be scared; the worst was over. In fact, the other generals congratulated him as the news went around the table:

"Hah, killed by his own bred spawn, the irony of the sorts, eh?" guffawed one ferret.

"Blimey, ah never liked that snot-nosed Naze; I hope you'll fare better as his replacement. Hahaha!" chortled another stoat.

In fact, they found Naze's predicament hilarious. Unfortunately, the Lady did not share their optimism. She glared at Darion from the other side of the table, and even though she had pardoned him, the young man knew he would have to prove himself in her eyes to be accepted. And that was just what he wished to accomplish.

"Now, please," chastened the Lady. _"Let's_ get on with the meeting. Haten, you wanted to say of some going-on's in your territory?"

"Oh, yeah," replied Haten, the one who had first guffawed at Darion's deed. "There's a royal feud going on south from here. There is this arrogant fellow, Hakemillion, that's waging war on Lord Dorthin. I sent a few espionage scouts to check the place out when there was a short battle epic. From what's been reported Hakemillion seems to have Dorthin on a thread."

"Hmmm, this is certainly interesting news," mused the Lady. "News we could benefit from. It's true that the monarchy has never bothered us, and we've never bothered them. But this is a prime chance. With two armies battling on the battlefield and dwindling away their forces, we could sweep the 'minefield' and usurp the the greatest army in running. Our power would dominate the land." As she spoke, her lips drew to reveal a feral grin.

Her audience gasped. Never had they contemplated such supreme power and ambition. But Darion voiced his thoughts, "A superb idea, milady!"

She glanced at him. "Yes, of course," she continued, "If things turn out well, I only need to send one contingent of soldiers to overpower Dorthin…"

"I'll go," volunteered Darion eagerly. Here, at last, was a chance to impress his leader…

The Lady studied him, "But you have to realize that this notion can only come in play in about a fortnight, since Dorthin is not yet weak enough…" And her voice trailed off to other subjects, minor in importance compared to this one, Darion felt, but he no longer payed attention. He would not lose this chance; it would have to come out in his way, he felt sure…

And it would! He'd make it so! Anything, but the disaster of his plan…

xxx

Agent D: No the stoat was reciting all of it and Wayak just sort of made up the last line like I mentioned in my review response thingy. And I agree with avelblue it's not exactly patricide as he wasn't his biological father. And you know there's this one guy who wrote all his chapters in his story in mole talk as the mole was telling the story to an audience. The mole talk was pretty good only I could understand about half the story.

Grubswiper: Well, it's really your choice but I thought four chapters would be pretty short so I would advise to make it four 'parts' not four 'chapters since 'parts' are generally longer than 'chapters'.

Avelblue: well, I'm gonna edit all myy chapters once I've posted this chapter and the next one so thanks for bringing up that thing with Cyan-I'm gonna keep your anonymous review to remind me. You have an email at gmail. That's awesome-I'm thinking of getting one there.


	8. Chapter VII

CHAPTER VII: SCABINIEL'S NEW SLAVE

Author's Note: Okay this chapter will start to arise a new reason why this story is rated "T"- sensuality and some close-to making love scenes. There isn't any in this chapter but the middle of this chapter sets a foundation for a relationship between someone and someone, which will eventually lead to what I mentioned before. However, this chapter has a sort of 'love at first sight' principle and it might be a tad lemony or mushy or whatever. I'm a sort of novice at writing romance scenes and stuff like that. Anyways, please give me your comments on that.

Ok, another thing-this will possibly be the last chapter I update on _The Seeker's Path_ this summer. First after this chapter and the reviews I get, I will edit all the chapters in this story and possibly my short stories in _In the Dark: A Short Story Collection_. It will mostly be grammar mistakes and typos though I will fix any content problems that have arisen in my reviews if I can. However, I will do this all by looking at what my reviewers have said so everybody who reviews this chapter please give me as many problems as you can so I can fix them; if you don't then my mistakes will remain the same and you will have to bear through them.

I estimate the editing will take about a week to a fortnight and I will put a notice in the summary under the title about it. Then, in the rest of the summer days I will hopefully be able to post the prologue of _The Purple Lightsaber_ (tentative title) a Star Wars fic about Mace Windu and anybody who likes Star Wars please give it a shot. Okay, I know that was a long author's note, sorry, now let's get on with the story.

xxx

Shabinya fidgeted uneasily in her foreign uniform and gazed down at the funeral going on. The vixen tried to put together an expression of tragedy, sadness, andrage on her face; some soldiers were weeping openly as Colonel Panias Urayling's body was carried to its final resting place.

It was mid-morning after the encounter between the two armies. Shabinya had begun doubting that Ujan's and her troops would really need to carry out their part for Hakemillion to succeed. A whole third of Dorthin's troops had been wiped out in the ambush and it didn't look like there would be recruits any time soon.

Shabinya, mildly intersted, glanced as a speaker chosen for this special occasion walked up a plank set on two columns of bricks. _Nice stage, _though shabinya disdainfully.

The shrew that had come up on stage was still blowing his nose when he started his speech and his high-pitched monotone was punctured by squeals every few seconds.

"Panias Urayling was a great beast not only on the field but also in his heart, in his soul," wild cheers erupted from the crowd, "and nobody in this army will ever be the same without him," _Yes, I've just gotten three times more ecstatic, _thought Shabinya, "He had a home, and a wife, and two kits. He had a lot of friends and admirers and beasts who considered him their own idol. He had a lot of good virtues and few if any bad. He was pure of heart and helped to rid the land of the stain of any evil beasts, but no, he was not a racist. He did not stereotype; he believed and was willing to accept the concept that vermin could be pure of heart, too. He felt a forlorn mourning for every life he took even that off a warlord or a tyrant. He was one with the good of the world.A noble beast as him never roamed the world." Here the shrew took a deep breath, and then continued, "And in vegneance of his soul, we will rid the land of the army that destroyed our finest commander and advisor...and FRIEND!" The shrew almost choked at how high-pitched his voice had become, but he took in the applause and roar from his audience, while Shabinya dismissively turned around and gave a contempuous flick of her bushy tail.

After the burial, Shabinya headed to her barracks. She had chosen to fill in the role of Captain Gyred. This had arisen a problem last night as many of the militia had claimed to have seen the captain go down in the battle. Shabinya had convinced them that Gyred had truly survived, and she had made a nasty cut across the stomach to show of her escape in the encounter.

"Captain Gyred, sir," saluted a young soldier who had sneaked up on her. His clothes were ragged and he appeared quite flustered about something. Shabinya was soon to find out.

"The council,"-he was referring to a group of wizened beats and advisors who helped Dorthin make his decision- he started, "has made an ugly discovery. We have uncovered one of Hakemillion's spies dressed as an infantry private. Under torture he has admitted that there is an organization of these undercover workers…"

He paused for effect, and he got it. Shabinya made a small gagging noise, which the soldier assumed was a gesture of outrage. But Shabinya was barely restraining a violent fluttering impulse in her abdomen. The butterflies worsened at the private's next report:

"At first light tomorrow, all the troops are to report in the middle of the camp. His Lord and his physicians are going to search each and every one of us for signs that we might be one of Hakemillion's soldiers. There's gossip going around that Hakemnillion's General Ujan might be in this camp." Then the messenger departed, leaving to tell the other commanders the news.

Shabinya clutched at her stomach. What was she to do now? Normally, this wouldn't have posed a problem for her, as she would act as the person she was trying to pass by. But the whole sequence had been too rushed for her to learn about Captain Gyred. Plus, (even though Captain Gyred had been of the same species as her) a female posing as a male captain definitely wouldn't fare good for her-If only she could have picked someone of the same gender. Sure she had her breasts strapped to her chest and her face had donned a more swarthy complexion, but they would probably strip her down in the inspection.And she was not evn sure she had the right tone of voice forGyred-that was why she had not, so far, spoken to any beast.Ohdamn, wasshe in a predicament. And even worse, now that Trentl had been assassinated, there was a new council leader, a bloodthirsty badger whotook it as his greatest ambition and goal in the world was torid the world of as many vermin as he could…

xxx

A pinkish bolt of light struck the earth, casting the environment in a rosy tint.Dewdrops sparkled on leaves and blades of emerald grass casting the scene in a sparkling version of"Connect the Dots".It was the first light of dawn and a long, winding snake of a line stretched across to the flatlands. All sorts of His Lord's men on the march were there, from cooks to doctors, from carpenters to surgeons, from priests to armorers, from stablemen to foot soldiers, from infantry to commanders, and so on.

Shabinya shifted uncomfortably in her place-she was third in line. Before her numerous individuals had come into the tent, and they hadn't come out. Either there was a back entrance, they were still there, or they were dead (she hoped it wasn't the latter). In front of her, was Ujan along with another undercover worker. Behind Shabinya stood the rest of the spies. Ujan had carefully arranged this sequence.

"Listen," said Ujan quietly to Shabinya. "I'm next in line and my time for inspection is almost due. But don't worry; I have a plan in mind. You see, when I enter the tent I will throw myself at Dorthin and his cronies, causing mass pandemonium. This will enable you and the others to escape the fate of investigation since everybody's attention will be directed at me. You shall stealthily sneak into the line of those who have already been inspected. They are by the back of the tent, I presume. Meanwhile, I shall escape the clutches of these grasping buffoons, and report back to our lord."

Shabinya thought her leader was being overconfident. "But you could easily be shot down-"

Ujan grimaced unpleasantly. "Oh, I'm made of stronger stuff than that." Shabinya was surprised. She had always assumed that Ujan would be one of those generals that would lead an army from the back, execute soldiers for minor mishaps, and send one of his underlings in his place in a dangerous situation. Maybe she had been mistaken. But she had no more time to contemplate these thoughts as Ujan opened the tent flap and walked inside.

After a few moments of uneasy silence, everything erupted into chaos.

A scream erupted from the tent, followed by bolting footsteps. The guards surrounding the tent walls snapped into action. Crossbows were notched with steel bolts as they hurried towards the entrance. In a hurricane of movement, Ujan hurled himself through the front entrance, a bloody stiletto in his hand. He rammed the first guard in the ribs, leaving him helpless. The second guard was already loosening his crossbow, so Ujan hurled the blade at his face, sinking deep into a fleshy cheek. Distracted by this action, the guard's bolt went haywire, shooting up in the periwinkle sky. But the next guard had already loosed his bolt and Ujan threw himself to the ground in an intuitive move. The bolt came so close to his head, that it ruined his carefully groomed fur. Before the fourth and last guard could take aim properly, Ujan was already scrambling away in the dust.

But he was not out of the camp yet. Aroused by the sudden screams, a squad of saber-fighting guards charged after the fleeing general. As he passed Shabinya in his flight, Ujan murmured "good luck", and then he was gone.

About everybody had his or her head turned watching the spirited chase, so Shabinya took this moment for herself and her espionage colleagues to dart to the line at the back of the tents, joining the ones who had already been inspected.

Shabinya thought her escape had been made good, but a cloaked shadow at the outskirts of the tent watched on. Then it darted away, to report the occurrence to Dorthin…

xxx

Ujan had long since passed the borders of the camp, and now he was desperately clinging to footholds as hedesperately struggled his way up a weather-beaten cliff. The guards, spryer than him, were rapidly gaining on him. The general stoat spied a crevice, slightly above him. If he could make it to there…

Breathing raggedly in a distorted manner, his paw slipped on a mini ledge. He tumbled down but a presence of blood, tissue, sinew, fur, muscle, and bone stopped his descent. He was quickly grabbed around the gullet, and a saber brushed against a pulsing vein in his décolletage. "You're finished, general," stated the sword-wielder in a death whisper. The other guards closed in on him. Ujan's breathing quickened.

Suddenly a hail of steel-tipped arrows cascaded from the crevice, instantly killing all the guards. They fell against the cliffside tumbling down like a rockslide. A muscular arm reached out of the fissure and dragged Ujan inside. He was met by a mouse at the entrance dressed in rags with hideous scars covering his face. Emerald eyes blazed out of the once light gray but now black fur.

"Hello, wanderer," the mouse spoke in a heavy accent. "My name is Collin and welcome to my hideout."

xxx

It was a crescent of warm sunbeams filtering through the troposphere that illuminated the enormous spread of tents and rough canvas sheds that spread hundreds of meters in every direction, where a thousand scores of soldiers milled about in a colossal crowd, bustling with action. The great army of Lord Hakemillion lay nestled between a series of rolling hills. It was a beautiful summer day, where, in another world, kits and cubs would have eagerly frolicked and blown dandelions in a reality of jubilant happiness. But here were only grim, determined soldiers filled with nightmares of their past deeds, a sheen of gore and blood, horror and desperation casting a shadow upon their very spirit.

Inside his spacious accommodation, Scabiniel enjoyed the scant happiness that bellied at observing all the finery fit for a general. The tent walls were like an exquisite mix between an elaborate tablecloth and a wedding dress. The main attraction was a peacock spreading its wings and tail, a magnificent beast painted from a grind of semi-precious gems and stones. The borders were stitched with feathered gold and thick, multicolored lace hung from many different directions. Above the tent entrance, in silk, were stitched the title: "General Alexander Scabiniel".

The inside of the tent was furnished with maple furniture and had two oil lamps that beamed cozy warmth when lit. In a corner sat the weasel general himself, polishing his already shining weapons. Dirty rags worked methodically in his hands, while he drifted into space-less thoughts. It wasn't as if anybody demanded his presence or called for his attention.

He was obviously wrong.

General Kabbin walked in the tent in a lopsided manner a silly grin pasted on his face. _Too much alcohol last night,_ thought Scabiniel. Kabbin unsheathed one of his wakizashis and quite purposefully severed one of the paintings hanging on the wall. It hit the floor with a loud crash, the frame shattering. Kabbin rubbed the dirty soles of his boots in the destroyed painting. Then the fox grinned insolently. "Sorry about that, matey." Scabiniel had learned to hold tolerance for these disrespectful moves and the only evidence that he had been disappointed was a slight frown that smoothly disappeared from his facial composure.

"What brings you here, O' King of Yo-yos," Scabiniel smoothly insulted his intruder. Unfortunately, Kabbin was to drunk to comprehend he had been humiliated. However, Scabiniel easily understood what Kabbin had to say.

"Well matey, we be havin' an entertainment of sorts and about everybody is to show up, so we was wonderin' if General Chicken would come. We knows you be scared of our prisoners, but it be just a request…" Scabiniel winced. He hated this part of war. All the prisoners from Dorthin's army that had been captured from their most recent battle would be awaiting their evaluation: who would die, and who would become the newest slaves. It was a lose/lose situation.

Kabbin exited the tent, but not before disdainfully spitting on the ebon carpet which adorned the tent floor. Ignoring this insulting gesture, Scabiniel blanketed himself in a striped tunic with a daring sash. He wore fancy boots made out of a rare, aqua material and had a pair of pants made out of tough shark hide decked out with shining alligator scales. An eel skin belt fastened around his waist held together a skull dagger and a falchion, both blades in soft, leather sheaths. A lime green bandanna held together his tan locks. A wrist bracelet held a ruby encased in a simple gold-wrought holder. Scabiniel didn't know why all the grandeur was for, but he always seemed to have a feeling to look his best on public occasions, no matter how depressing they were. With soft footsteps he followed Kabbin in the cool morning air.

They headed down towards a field of barren vegetation. Here a wooden plank stood for public occasions. On it, in a disheveled line, fidgeted the prisoners of war. Scabiniel was disgusted to see women and children amongst the men. He was also surprised to realize that Dorthin's army had brought their women and children along with them. But then he remembered that thay hadnot been expecting to be attcked by Hakemillion and his soldiers. Surely they weren't going to put these innocent simpletons to be slaves or condemn them to death. But of course they would. Hakemillion and the other generals were cruel men.

Hakemilllion himself was here. The obese man smirked through his numerous chins, a malevolent spark in his eyes. "Ah, Scabiniel-you are here. Now we may start this happy, happy event." He smirked as the prisoners growled in hate and vengeance…vengeance that would never be fulfilled.

Scabinel put on an incredibly straight face as Hakemillion either ordered one of the generals to torture the prisoners to death or shackle them in rusty iron chains and lead them to a growing line behind the fat rat slaver Sebo, whose greasy face with numerous chins cracked into an oily, sincere smile every time a slave was added to his "work group".

Hakemillion glanced over in Scabiniel's direction when the line of prisoners had been minimized to a bare dozen. "'ello there Scabiniel, me matey," the warlord gestured to him in a cold, deceiving tone, "why don't ya come here and join the fun?"

Scabiniel knew exactly what he meant but he played dumb. "What are you talking about?"

Hakemillion's face turned into an ugly grimace of contempt but it quickly changed to the previous beckoning smile in an eye blink. "Here you decide what to do with this ugly wench." And he wheeled around a prisoner to face Scabiniel. It was a weasel maid. More accurately it was the most beautiful weasel maid Scabiniel had ever seen.

She was covered in grime and dirt and her body was covered with open cuts and scratches. All that adorned her body was a dirty loincloth-the rest had been taken by her captives. Her breasts were round and perfect… and naked. Looking back on all his past experiences, Scabinel identified them as the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Her fur was beautiful and it shined despite all the mud clogging the hairs. Her face was perfect with a petite mouth and sharp nose with a curving forehead. Her curves took his breath away, and when he looked into her deep and warm gray eyes and he felt a tingly, happy feeling in his body he had never experienced before. He had been orphaned at a little after his birth-his mother had died giving birth to him and his father had died of sadness after the passing of his beloved. It was love.

But Scabiniel quickly shook him out of his fantasies.There was not time for love on the battlefield. But he knew he would have to get this weasel in his tent and he knew how too. He could be very persuasive when he needed too.

"Well, since you mentioned this , I remembered that I needed a personal slave around my tent; things are all over the place and dirt and stuff like that is accumulating," Scabiniel sniffed in an indignant, righteous way. "I wouldn't usually mention it, but as you asked my opinion about it…" Then Scabiniel leaned into the weasel maid until they were almost touching nose to nose. "Just because you're a maid doesn't mean I'll go easy on you-I haven't forgotten about the whip I have in my tent," he grinned sinisterly. He hoped it was good enough acting.

Hakemillion was delighted that this particular general could think such cruel ideas. He immediately let it go but not without giving him some ideas. "You can borrow my torture weapons from my chamber. In factI want you to come by my torture room every week to try them out-that is an order.I have ones that are really complex. But if you have a taste for the simple methods, remember to strike with the whip lash covered in sea salt," he added jovially. The weasel maid shuddered as she was dragged of to who she was certain would be the death of her. Scabiniel's thought contradicted her: _Don't worry, my dear; first impressions are almost always never true._

xxx

"General Darion, sir," a voice called out from behind the wooden door of Darion's room. "The Lady requests to see your presence on the roof ramparts."

Darion eagerly jumped up from the fluffed sofa he was lounging on and opened the door. A ferret soldier of his army-his name had temporarily jumped away from his mental files-waited outside.

"Lead on, my dear fellow," exclaimed Darion as he surged 'longside his guide. Whatever business the Lady had with him it must have to be good to do it in a private place. Maybe she would assign him some task or something akin so he could prove himself worthy!

As he stepped over the last stair leading to the roof ramparts, his hands moved in a blur to catch a wooden sword thrown at him. On the ramparts stood the Lady in a suit of leather armor wielding another wooden sword identical to the one Darion held in his hands. The soldier left quickly.

"What is all this for?" questioned Darion.

"All my other generals know how to fight and do tactics and all the other skills important in campaigns. I don't want to end my streak here," said the Lady.

"I know how to fight," replied Darion.

"If you truly know how to fight _well_," said the Lady, "trust me I will send you back to your quarters. But for now give me a demonstration of your skill."

Darion felt stupid. Like he didn't know how to swordfight! He'd show this woman. "Then let us begin," he proclaimed and started circling her.

The Lady's limbs were incredibly loose and she stood in a relaxed pose. Darion, sensing this as a weakness, immediately lunged for her unprotected stomach, wooden sword whistling through the air.

She didn't move until the last possible tenth of a second. The sword in her hand rotated downwards so fast Darion just glimpsed a blur of solid brown. Then, pushing Darion's blade back by the slightest twist of her wrist, her sword came in a lightning-fast move to cross and lightly tap Darion's open chest.

"A tip," she hissed at him, "never make the first move against an opponent of greater or unknown skill."

They disengaged and Darion circling around her again, looking for possible openings, but remembering her advice. She continued, "Of course, you can make the first move if your opponent is not aware or weaker than you." And she struck again, her sword coming in a blur of an upper crescent swinging on Darion's left side and tapping his ribs. His sword came too late for the block and slid uselessly over the other blade, creating a dull grate. They disengaged again.

"Oh, you're very good of course," said the Lady with a touch of scorn in her voice. "You barely have any idea what is going around."

Darion's face inflamed and he came out swinging his sword as fast as he could at her neck, forgetting she didn't have any protection there. But as fast as he may have seemed, he was still too slow for his opponent and the ferret fem ducked under his swing and dug her blade up his stomach in fury. He gasped in pain and stepped away, breathing hard.

"Did you forget what I told you?" she asked. "Never make the first move!"

The next fight was better. The Lady struck, first faking on his left side, but eventually swinging the blade towards his right hip. He somehow managed to knock it away and he slashed in a rushed counter. The Lady easily sidestepped his mad charge and brought her sword up to tap his chest in another stroke of victory.

"Better,' she admitted. "There were a few more moves in that one and it got close to a decent fight. I think it is time put away the practice swords and see what you make off bows and arrows."

"But why?" he asked, "I'm not good at bows and stuff like that."

She glanced at him. "Being at least a decent long-range shooter is very important; you can pick off your enemies before even coming forward to engage them that way. Or, in a battle, if you have a few decent archers, you can minimize your opponent's army in a few seconds."

He thought he had done badly at sword fighting but he did even worser with archery, if that was possible. The Lady set up a few targets with a bull's eye and overlapping contours like a circle rainbow. They shot from ten yards away and about ten times each. Not once did Darion even hit the target post (except one time when he was faiminf for the far right but because of his aim it sunk instead into the far left). On the other hand, the Lady sunk it nice and fast, every time, into the center of the bull's eye.

"Maybe you'll improve over time," she said brusquely as he missed his shot by a fair amount (again). "I think it is time to practice military tactics and strategies and I've found there is only one good way to start off." And she brought out a chessboard, complete with the pieces.

Darion shrieked inside. He loved chess and was darn good at it. Here at last was somewhere where he could best his commander. He started with white and a clean move to b6. He was beaten in nine moves. After being beaten soundly five times in a row after that, he started beginning to doubt his skills.

"Well, that is all for tonight," the Lady declared. "Go to your quarters and I'll send a soldier in the morning to rouse you, so we can commence our training."

When Darion looked at the sky he saw a sliver of the silver moon and millions of sparkling beacons that were stars. The sky was a deep shade of ebony contoured with the slightest shades of dark blue. It was night already. Wandering back to his quarters he felt mortally tired. Had he really learned that much today?

As soon as he entered his room, he took his tunic of and fell onto his bed. A second after his head hit the pillow, he fell sound asleep. Looking at the smiling form of the mink curled up in a ball and a look of content on his face, one could hardly believe he was evil.

xxx

avelblue: wOw! That is one long review and it is 100 based on this story. So I guess this will be a long response. Oh crap, I forgot that Wayak was injured, I'll revise that bit. And I know that that whole scene was sort of shaky, but I had to put the message that Wayak was officially a reformed vermin across. And I'll change the sideburn to whisker part too, in my editing. And oh, I never really thought of Lukas-Luke so just consider it conscience. And with the Devnam issue-well I didn't really intend him to come across that badly (he is Not the 'glorious hero' by the way) but I still wanted him to have a sort of old school woodlander type of personality. I mean I like each character to have their sort of own unique personality.

Hmm, maybe Geoniyo was a little specific. I don't really know I'm not into medicine and nobody in my family really is a doctor, so I have no idea how he would react to this sort of predicament. Also, I know Maliana is a sort of independent mercenary sort of type of person but the clan of bandits (which she was currently in) has this own sort of twisted religion I guess. And maybe Lukas is a little tough to start crying; I'll definitely put that in consideration in my editing. Kandall is a scholar man, he loves algebra and stuff like that! And Geoniyo is sort of untouched by war so he wouldn't know that maggots suck the bad blood out and eat the bad flesh. Yeah, that scene could use a little polish, I agree with you. Well Kendall's a scholar, he'd stick to the school experiment and you realy think the riddle was that good-I thought it was crap. Wow, long response, I hope you give me another one of those long reviews again!

Agent D: Yeah, an anelace is what you said it was. And I have this theory about the reviews that Mr. NG, TF, and J do. See they review the first few chapters of a story and then they just read (since they don't have to worry about the author no reviwing their story) and then post a review like ten chapters later.

Narfgirl: Wow, thanks for all your cool reviews, and you read fast! Thank you for all your compliments and I will continue reviewing Comes A Badger Warrior starting tomorrow!


	9. Chapter VIII

CHAPTER VIII: THE SEEKER'S PATH

Author's Note: Yes, in this chapter you will finally figure out why I named this story this frickin weird title. Also, yes I've edited all my other content in this chapter, but besides grammar there weren't that many changes. However, there were some paragraph long insertions that I put in. If you want to check them out, here's what I mainly changed:

I added a paragraph in Cyan's scene in chapter five (Constellation of Survivors), instead of a magic door, Darion has to fight two bodyguards before entering the con-Clave and the lady's reaction is somewhat different in chapter six (Reunion on the Slopes), and a shrew makes a speech about Colonel Panias Urayling at his funeral in chapter seven (Scabiniel's New Slave). The rest were minor, sentence-long changes. Oh and also, there is a sort of nasty graphic description of an injured ferret, but don't worry I didn't describe it in a perverted way. One more thing: I know this chapter is split up a LOT, but it was the only way I could fit all the quick time-based plot turns. There's like nine different scenes in this.

xxx

_Joluff's body twisting in a spasm of pain and shock as the dagger duck into his neck cords, his eyes widening in disbelief…and grief as the realization struck him. It was over, lights out for him. Done. Gone. Never to return…_

Lukas shook his head ferociously as the reminiscents of the past had come once again to haunt him. When he had first stabbed Joluff, he was more in shock at what he had done. Only a day ago, had he begun to understand the whole implication. Joluff was dead. His life was over. Though Lukas had never really liked the bully that much, he knew that Joluff had had friends and that he had had happy times devoid of alcohol and other addictive habits that could harm your organs. There had been beasts who liked him, he had had a best friend, Geoniyo, and Lukas had ended all his happiness.

Was there even an afterlife or had all the essence and soul and mind of Joluff been sucked away into a dark, deep abyss when he had killed him? He didn't know and now he realized that there had been beasts that had idolized him because of his strength and somewhat, in a gruff sort of way, handsome looks and there was so much to know about him that he had never known. Now he felt the other good beasts' resentment around him because of what he had done. It was like his brow was swathed in blood, a standing marker of who he was.

"'urry up, Lukas." Maliana swept past him, to take the lead, her cut clothes moving with her curves. Lukas shook himself out of his trance and fell back into the trudging monotone the group had fallen in. Since yesterday when they had first started their desert trek, things had, at first, been going fairly smoothly, but then it smoothed on in to a boring routine punctuated by bouts of dehydration and starvation, as they had very little food and water they could salvage from the recent battle. Lukas's throat was raw and rippled in jolts of pain every time he talked, while his stomach broadcasted grumbles and roars every few minutes. And it didn't help that he had to carry his part of Jarbell's body, as the wounded marten passed into unconsciousness every few minutes.

His reverie was interrupted by the assigned scout (Cyan) rushing back with his ears erected in an astounded expression, as he skidded to a stop in front of the crowd.

"Mah jolly fellows, this proud jack of a hare just found somethin' blinkin' interesting," he declared, with a paw over his chest in a comical pose.

"What is it, Cyan?" asked Devnam in a resigned, bored voice.

"Just follow me, sah, wot wot," exclaimed the hare in a jovial voice so contradictory of the other beasts' moods, "though it may dishearten the maids, so beware." He gave Mliana a sympathetic glance, which she turned in a contemptuous glare. As Lukas stomped through the sinking sand after the hare he heard Maliana mutter, "Couldn't he 'ust ah told us whe'e the blood' h$ll he's leading us?"

A minute later they all found out and stood in shocked silence at the horrid scene.

At their feet lay a horrible, bloody mess that had once been a beast. However, it had been mutilated beyond the wildest realms of nightmares, so badly that they could not even tell what race it was, or be sure of its sex. Its right arm had been inexpertly cut off, so that ridges of flesh still emerged from the socket that had been covered in a white cloth, which had changed color to a deep scarlet. A deep cut that started from its left thigh and worked up vertically to its ribs, oozing blood among broken bones that jutted out, covered in hideous, ruptured flesh blotted with damaged muscle. This scar was quite recent, but the ones on its face weren't.

The nose had been gnawed off by some reptilian creature to reveal split nostrils and a scabbed stump. The skin on both sides had been burnt so that it had crumbled off and the raw tissue had formed a sort of hideous, tawny scab that had blistered in the heat to form numerous pockmarks, while the rest of the scab had been crusted to a layer of red due to the blood that had oozed up from the flesh and mixed up with the film. Both ears had been reduced to ribbons of cartilage and tissue, which flopped down to its cheeks. The mouth had been slashed in a diagonal direction so its lips were split and the remaining, rotting teeth hung from the mutilated gums, suspended by a few fibers.

There was a collective gasp from most of the beasts and Wayak turned on Cyan. "You were _happy _about this."

Cyan shrugged in a nonchalant manner. "Since all you clever sahs are so blinkin' moody all day and night long, I've learned to have a more positive outlook on life. Look," he said, gesturing to the pack lying by the beast, "the blighter, yes he's a male, has enough water and grub to keep us jolly in the tummy for a week!"

Wayne had to agree with the hare. "Well…you do have a point since he is already dead, and we might as well profit from this, since he surely didn't-"

"He's not dead," stated Kendall in a flat voice. "He still has a pulse."

Geoniyo hurried to the injured beast. "No he doesn't," he disagreed. "You can't feel anything at all."

Maliana joined the duo. "Yeah, he does, ye jus' don't have t'e same texture as we does. Mouses got t'ese frickin' pads on t'eir paws, and hares don't."

"He's not dead?"

Everybeast turned to Devnam, who had just spoken. He had a fierce gleam in his eyes, and said, "Good, because he was the best friend I ever knew, the only beast who truly understood me."

"Wot the h$ll are you talking about?" asked Jarbell disbelievingly as he stood up straight on the sand, where the beasts had left him so they could come closer to inspect the body. Nobody had noticed him as he had just awoken a few minutes ago. "We couldn't tell what gender he was and here you come and claim he's your best friend! Are you getting senile in your old age?"

Devnam glanced scornfully at Jarbell, but said in a much quieter voice, "His name is Malik. Fool of me to think that he had died all that time ago, we could have had so much time together."

Lukas's voice cackled in disdain at his enemy. "You really want Geoniyo, Cyan, and me to believe that foolhardy tale you told us about Malik and yourself? And even if it was true, how would you be able to tell in the conditions he is in!"

Devnam quietly walked up and held out Malik's left hand and showed them three large spots of purple on his paw pads. "Malik had these three purple spots since he was born. I think it was a sickness devoid of any ill effect besides these blemishes. And also," he continued, showing them Malik's right hind paw, "as you can see this foot bears seven claws, a characteristic known of only him." He turned at the gaping crowd before him and fell to his knees in a pleading frenzy and, unshed tears blurring his vision, begged, "Please friends, if you do this, I swear it will be the last thing I will ask of you that might hinder in any way." Tears now streaming down his cheeks, flattening down his whiskers and trickling past his jaw, he intoned once more, "Please…"

xxx

Jarbell glanced up from the "surgery" operation AKA the dying body of Malik the ferret. "He doesn't have much time left," he announced, avoiding Devnam's gaze. "A few hours at best. This is almost as bad as that fool job that you two idiots-," a glare at Cyan and Geoniyo, "did on me; I'm still surprised my heart hasn't gone out yet!"

"A few hours," said Devnam sadly, his mouth moving as if he was savoring an exceptionally bad taste in his mouth, "I guess that will have to do. At least I'll have time to talk some time with him…that is if he ever awakes…"

xxx

Darion stalked down the corridors in restless impatience. There was nothing he could do or look forward to until his stupid training ended. The lady would not let him engage in or create an activity, until she deemed him "trained".

_And when would that happen?_ he wondered. He had certainly improved, but in the position he was in, there was hardly anything else to do besides improve…if you could call it improvement. In sword fighting, it now took ten seconds instead of five to disarm him or "kill" him. In archery, instead of hitting the target one time out of ten, he was now doing an average of three times out of ten. In chess, instead of taking five moves to lose, he was now taking nine. Whoop-de-do. He was a regular grand master now.

But he didn't really understand it. It was as if the Lady was an inhuman force that could not be bested in a single aspect of skill, any competition. Her looks, strength, speed, intellectual…she had all of them. Except maybe the skills to be a good teacher; Darion found his lessons dreary, especially since they were indulging into writing and reading (though Darion had been literate, he hardly knew anything else besides the crude forms of the language), mathematics (Darion had been able to count, but besides that…), history (who cared about some ancient guy, even if he was an evil genius warlord who held Redwall under siege for ten seasons and slaughtered good beasts in the thousands), science of nature (who cared if slugs were bisexual or some birds could exceed a hundred mph) , engineering and technology (like he would want to build a spyglass), and other stupid,-in Darion's opinion-idiotic subjects that didn't help you at all.

A messenger soldier interrupted his train of thought. "Sir, the Lady quests to inform you that you now have a free rein at your command and at your soldiers."

Darion practically jumped in delight. Guiding the messenger by the shoulder he whispered,

"Ye have been very kind and ye make a very good 'ourier," the soldier stood up straighter, "so ah wish that you will tell all my 'aptains to herald their people 'ause-," Darion's eyes quivered with delight, "we're gonna have some blood and vinegar with that dratted otter holt, NORT I think they 'all themselves, that keeps on annoying us!"

xxx

The fire blazed the beasts sitting around it in a warm, comforting glare as the severely wounded ferret in the middle stirred. Then he blinked his eyes open. There was a sharp intake of breath from all around as Malik stood on his knees, gasping for oxygen, as he could no longer breathe through his amputated nose.

It was the most macabre and ugly product of nature he had ever seen, Devnam had to admit to himself. Malik's chin stuck out as his slashed mouth attempted to grasp air. He turned his blazing, emerald eyes on them, gasping for breath between his words as his slashed mouth tried to twist in strange positions to form words.

"Who…are you?"

Devnam stood up among the waiting assembly and approached his long-time friend as a gleam of recognition came to the ferret's eyes. Devnam stared at the hideous shell that represented the kind soul and understanding personality that had once, long ago, been the ferret's appearance on the outside. But now lay a hideously tortured body at his feet. But could the inside feelings still be their pure form of friendship, love, courage, and belief…

They could.

"Devnam…my old friend…now I can die peacefully…knowing that I am in the presence…of good…souls…"

"Malik, don't die! You can't leave me, you're my best friend in the world and now that I have uncovered your presence, your life is being swept away. Oh, Malik," Devnam called, tears stinging his irises, "at least tell us how this predicament came to befall you…"

Malik stared with an expression of happiness and sadness, of contentment and wishes unfulfilled. "That is…the least I can do…for now…to have my story…live long after my…demise," the ferret paused his guttural speech and pronounced, "there are so many…things left to do…in the world…but lacking the time…I will let you beasts of good faith…and integrity, for you can be good inside…whether vermin or good beast…for vermin is not the…name of a race…but just an insult…that would stereotype…races' beasts…for no rational reason. But…I shall tell you my…tale and I can only hope that…you will continue to…keep its principles…in the light."

Not all the beasts had been moved by the speech-beasts like Maliana just sat the whole thing through with nary a feeling but a look of pleasant neutrality-but Devnam clasped his hands behind his back and bowed down to the wounded ferret muttering in a quiet voice that all could hear:

"We would be honored if you would bestow this duty upon us. But for now let us hear the tale of what happened since we last crossed paths."

And Devnam sat back to listen to an account of epic proportions weaved with the wily twists of Fate. He was pleased to hear that Malik had started off where he, himself had finished off in his tale to the hares of Salamandastron.

xxx

Darion paced across the bulwark of wood that surrounded the fort addressing the two hundred regiment of elite warriors he had elected for the certain slaughter that lay ahead. He decided to give a short, rousing speech to enlighten the warriors in mild blood frenzy.

"Those petty NORT otters have annoyed us for too long! With their ridiculous philosophies, they believe themselves to be superior because of their principles on life! What an atrocity! You hear that, don't you! They believe us to be inferior, that they dominate the land! We'll show them who's the top when we'll have our weapons in their guts!" Cheering from the crowd emboldened Darion as on, as he shouted, "We WILL TERMINATE them ALL! RID the LAND of their disgusting TAINT! For those who be faint of heart stay behind, but for the brave warriors I know I have, follow me, as we lead those obnoxious stream dogs to their graves!" Unknown to the warriors before him, the NORT outnumbered them two to one and Darion had a reserve troop of one thousand warriors commanded by Captain Claw waiting in their wake for his call (the shriek of an eagle) which would signify danger of losing.

The constant stomping of two hundred pairs of feet brought up huge dust clouds that hovered at a noxious level above the dirt path that the elite troops were taking. Stopping near mounds of pine needles, they chopped off branches and ignited them with the fiery resources of flint and tinder. As the twilight hour began to settle above the forest they were walking in, the everyday woodland sounds started to cease and the soldiers made an effort to remain quiet as not to give their cover away since they were approaching the otters' holt.

It was a rough construction of dried dirt with assorted wood and a roof of branches intertwined with vines. It was balanced across the river, ingeniously constructed atop a dam, so thick logs made up the base.

The soldiers fell back in the shadows and quickly hid their torches in folds of cloth ad Darion quietly whispered their instructions,

"Ok, put our arrows on fire, or those who don't have arrows, spears, javelins, any other type of missile. You can even get a piece of wood on fire and fit it in a ling. On my word ready and release, then reload. We will fire on them twice by which time their pitiful home will probably be in flames. A lot will probably take to the water, being otters. Wait after them on the banks with a torch in one hand and a close combat weapon in the other.

"If you can't get at them, again-grab a hold of some missile and shoot them with it. Shoot twice to make sure they're dead. There will be a lot of those whoresons, so you will all have enough kill to satisfy you." Then Darion grinned feral-like, a scary appearance as his face was partly shadowed by darkness and the other half illuminated with a hallucination-like glow cast off by the torches. "There will be a lot of split blood today. Just make sure not _too _much is yours…"

xxx

Rani leaned against the doorway, her paws sliding over the hardened dirt frame. The otter's whiskers moved in anticipation of the feast ahead…a feast to remember, if the smell was anything to go by. Her narrowed eyes scanned her fellow otters in an articulate view. Instead of viewing every otter by its appearance, she evaluated him or her by his or her own unique personality that she had familiarized herself with.

Rani was a unique otter herself, to say the least. To start off she was a pacifist, greatly differing from the majority of rowdy otters. Though she appreciated their sense of humor and fun, she hated their carefree opinion when it came to battle and violence. The world would be a much more peaceful and enjoyable place if not for violence. Many things provoked violence (all in Rani's opinion senseless reasons or pathetic excuses): revenge or personal grudges, racism or stereotyping, striking back, anger, boredom, love, religion…the list went on and on.

"Hey, Rani mate," greeted a particularly handsome male otter, "what's troubling that pretty face of yours so hard?" Rani blushed, as the otter continued, "Yah know it takes only fourteen muscles to smile, and sixty-four muscles to frown. Yah don't want to overexert yourself, do you?"

Rani smiled shyly at her friend. Her smile abruptly turned into a frown of angst and disbelief as the wall of the holt facing her burst into flames and toppled down onto the male otter. His scream of anguish was flushed out with a sizzle as the fire devoured his body. Other otters trapped under that wall echoed that same shriek of desperation as their death toll bell rang loud in their ears. Rani let out a gasp of terror as her dreams crumbled around her!

xxx

"I pulled. …myself out of …the snow…or at least …I tried to, almost …overcome with fatigue…and stiffness as I was…at that moment. I managed to pull…most of myself…out at the moment, but…when I could pull…no more, I was still up in…snow to my mid-thighs. At that point, I blacked out…due to the pain and cold." Malik stared dreamily at the crackling fire and continued, warning, "What I will now account…I haven't seen…but have been informed of it…by the good vole that…saved me.

"Now this vole's name…was Jecko…and when he saw me…I was but some live…snow scarecrow, planted in with my feet. He…dug me out with his…war hammer and trusty axe…and then carried me on his back…to his camp. My thighs and down had been frozen…coated in a frosty white sheen…which soon melted by the fire…that Jecko started. My body was slowly…but surely thawed, until…nothing remained but a few…scattered drops of water on the tips of my fur.

"Though I was warmed quickly enough…my body was still stiff and limbs were…paralyzed. It took me a…few weeks to recover since I had been in the snow for…a few hours before Jecko had come along. After…I recovered, we spent some time just practicing wood lore and other seemingly mundane tasks…that I later learned were valued skills. Soon after…I became able to run and brawl, I began wondering what happened to you, Devnam…dear friend. I never found your remains, so Jecko and I set out south, since we were about as North as you can get…without freezing." As Malik began to talk of the adventures and misfortunes that had befallen them, his own memories wandered back into the far past, reliving those tales as he said them aloud.

"Hurr' up, Master Malik," called Jecko as they both tromped down the dirt path. They were going downhill at a pretty steep pace, so Malik was shocked but not heavily surprised, as Jecko seemed to trip and fall on the ground, rising up a mini dirt cloud.

"_Jecko," exclaimed Malik as he went over to his friend. However, instead of seeing a dusty, but good-natured vole rising to his feet and waving him off, he found a dead vole with an arrow sticking out of his chest._

"_Don't move and paws off that weapon, or you're gonna end up like your little friendy here," spoke a voice from behind the cover of a willow tree. He was surprisingly well spoken, for a vermin. Malik slowly rose his paws off the hilt of his saber in a ruse of defeat…to clasp the saber seconds later and whirl to one side as the arrow streaked past him. _

_He sprinted to the tree, hoping that the sniper wouldn't be fast enough to reload. As he rounded the trunk he came face to face…with a mouse! The grim specimen had dirty clothes and a scar across the left eye. This, Malik, took in a fraction of a second as his saber cleaved through the loaded bow. The arrow backfired, slamming with the other equally deadly end into the mouse's stomach. Blood sprayed in a gush of red and the mouse sank down in pain, babbling off pathetically with tears streaming into his mouth._

"_If the world is a stage," mused Malik, staring curiously at the mouse, "truly the roles have been reversed."_

"_Kind sir, please pull the arrow out," pleaded the mouse in a pathetic pose._

"_If I pull the arrow out, it will only kill you," stated Malik coldly. The mouse whimpered. "But if you insist." And with that Malik killed the mouse._

"Days passed…and I walked on and on…my memories are a flash of…blank slides…for those days were fraught with hunger and thirst, fatigue and…lack of sleep. I was ambushed by a group of bandits…they were all under the leadership of a certain ferret…Darion, I think his name was.

"We passed beyond the lands of cold up in the north…me, a bedraggled slave among my miserable companions. It was a hard life…made even harder due to the lash of Darion's whip…I'll curse that craven ferret to my grave…which won't be long now," Malik managed a grim smile. "We went south and struck west, Darion's band growing all the time…along with his number of slaves. By the time we reached Salamandastron…Darion had about twenty scores of killers under his command…along with ninety slaves. Now that we were at the great fire mountain…Darion's purpose became clear. You see, even though Darion had accomplished a great many…evil things, he was still very young. When he had enslaved me he was naught but fourteen seasons old, barely out of childhood. Now…he was sixteen but a better fighter than just about anybody else in the army. He might have been strong and fast and clever…but he was certainly not wise. The prospect of so many warlords and vermin armies that had lost their…lives at the fire mountain-he gave it not a second thought.

"After that ensued the fiercest battle I've witnessed with this pair of old blinkers…and believe me, I've seen quite a few. It wasn't a war…since you could say it was all over in one large, fierce, and quite bloody epic of a battle. At that time…Salamandastron had quite a large army…one badger and slightly over eight hundred hares, and Darion had only about half that many. Now, Darion was rash all right…but he was certainly not insane. You see, the badger lord…Lord Grey, I believe his name is, wisely hid the bulk of his forces…displaying only bare four scores as his militia. Darion chose to attack by the cover of night…and then us slaves realized our true purpose, why Darion valued us so much that he collected us.

"He suspected that the badger had a counterattack up his sleeve…which he did. He had a squad of hares prepared to assault any intruders…coming up the mountain. Darion wasn't too sure about this one, so he had us slaves stand as a distraction, roped to the side of the mountain…to pose as if we were climbing up! While the hares sent boulders rolling in our direction…Darion and his soldiers cleverly passed up in to the mountain…and assaulted Lord Grey and his hares.

"The boulders came rolling in three tumbles…before the hares realized their deadly mistake. Five others and me…were the only ones to survive the onslaught and a lot of the scars…that I have acquired were because of that incident.

"Meanwhile, after the surprise had started to worn off, the tide…started to turn in the hares' favor, due to their number…and superior skill. Darion himself bore the title of six slain hares. However…the hares cleverly cornered the vermin army and finished vast amounts of them at their leisure. In fact…Darion and another score of his faithful followers were the only ones to escape! They scuttled down the mountainside and picked up the remaining slaves…the ones that were alive, that is.

"The pitiful remnants of the once-great army made camp in a secluded grove of trees. In the morning…Darion rashly sent a message to Lord Grey…challenging him to a one on one combat for the winner of the battle. The victor…would get the other leader's army…and the leader was to honorably surrender or die. By the time the combat was too begin…only me and one other slave had survived the night. The others had died from their severe wounds, which had turned out to be mortal…but this did not stop us from witnessing a most ferocious brawl…that took place in the early dregs of morning near the fire mountain…" Again Malik's eyes took on an omniscient tinge as he began to relive that memory, fully emblazoned in his mind.

_The two combatants circled each other, Darion with two sabers with jeweled pommels, one in each hand, and Lord Grey wielding a mighty spear of oak framed with shafts of steel. As a horn blared, the two enemies leapt at each other._

_Grey gave a roar of "Eulalia" as he leapt above Darion with his spear poised to strike. However, Darion quickly sidestepped to one side and the spear whirled to a thud in a micro sand dune. Grey might have been stronger, but Darion had the speed._

_The next turn, Darion struck, his sabers humming in his hand at the alacrity of his move as he jabbed at the badger's ribs. Two small streams of blood erupted from between two chains of steel in the badger lord's chain mail. Lord Grey howled with rage and truck down with his spear on top of Darion's head._

_The steel helmet that Darion bore must have been extremely durable, for though it broke on the impact, it did not leave a single bump or cut on Darion's head, or even a throb of pain or hint of a headache in his nerve system. Somewhat surprised at his luck, he recovered and struck back at the badger before Grey could bring down the spear again. His sabers again cut at the sparse flesh exposed from behind the badger lord's chain mail. More blood spurted out to trickle down the badger's armor._

_Darion ducked as the heavy spear swung at where his head had been fractions of a second ago. But this was merely a decoy as Grey hefted a large kick at Darion's gut, sending him blowing backwards. The ferret lay sprawled on the sand, but managed to regain himself in the nick of time, and rolled aside as Grey's spear thudded into the sand next to him._

_But the badger had him and both of them knew it. Grey sent the swords flying out of Darrion's grip and picked him up by the collar. The two white and black, huge paws closed around the ferret's throat, choking him. Bile rose up his neck and his vision began to swim in a black phosphoresce._

_Malik lay watching from a safe distance behind a tree. He didn't think he'd be much better off with Lord Grey and the hares, since they would regard him as an enemy. So, equipped with the bag alongside him, which was full of supplies he had stolen from his slavers, he was going to make a dash for it as soon as the fight was over._

"I thought for sure…that this was the end of Darion," Malik resumed his tale. "But…no. Seeing that their leader was in mortal danger…one vermin shot the badger with a bolt and the other hurled a javelin at him. These distractions…though not great enough to cause a badger lord real harm…kept him diverted long enough for Darion to escape his grasp…and run off with his band. Lord Grey, roaring with fury, threw himself at the rear of the band of vermin…bringing down three rats, a stoat, and a weasel with his bulk. He slammed in the ground, distorting the bodies of the vermin…but knocking his helm against a boulder. He lost consciousness. The hares pursued the vermin and I believe…they dwindled their umbers to Darion and five others before they lost track of them. I…took this opportunity to run off, into the desert…possibly the biggest mistake I ever did.

"Now that was three and a half seasons ago. For the first season…I got lost in all that blasted sand, wandering off and hence. I ran out of…supplies after the first few months and after that I became ill and lunatic. I…spent my time hallucinating, while numerous fevers struck me, making me go slowly but steadily insane.

"Then a fate worser than starvation, lack of water, or even insanity struck me. I believe…you have heard some rumors about the lizard clan that lives around here?" Malik stopped his narrative to glance at his audience who all nodded their heads, remembering Devnam's riddle. Malik paused, uncertain of the information he was about to divulge, but continued nevertheless:

"I could spend days…retelling my experience at the lizard camp, where I lived for two seasons. But since that is such a horrid memory…I will sum it all up in a few sentences. When I was their captive…they kept me well fed and watered. I soon learned that this was all part of their plan to fatten me up…so they could eat me. Yes, they are vicious cannibals. When they brought me near their cooking pot…I fought ferociously and managed to escape, but bearing these scars. I have wandered this blasted desert, until then…seeking who know what; but now that I am in the company of friends, I may…die peacefully."

There was a hushed silence among the camp, as the shadows lengthened their dimension and the leaping flame of the fire grew smaller. Then Devnam stepped forward and kneeled among his friend, his speech sounding through the site, while bittersweet tears sliced across the fur cresting his cheeks.

"My friend, you have gone through much, and fate has rarely been kind to you. But I hope you will die with a contented heart."

Malik stared grimly back at his friend and managed to lift the corners of his mouth up in a smile. "Devnam, I will die more than contented if everybody present…will manage to fulfill the legacy that I am leaving behind. This is even more important than the story of my life. What has kept me going through all those hardships was something that I fondly dubbed "The Seeker's Path".

"Now this won't take a long time to tell. I had a vision after Jecko retrieved me out of the avalanche. I have had…many of the same visions before and it is what has kept me going on and on.

"Now I know that you have all heard of Martin the Warrior, but he…did not come to me in the vision. You know who did? Many of you…have not heard of him. He died after a young life…he did not die an honorable death, betrayed and slaughtered by his crew. That's right…he spent most of his time at sea. He was killed by a monitor lizard and his minions. His name was…Romsca.

"Now he came to me in that vision and pointed out two black lines going in opposite directions and said 'There are only two paths you can take-The Seeker's Path and The Life Path. The Life Path is normal life…as many beasts wish it, with wars, quests, tragedies, love, etc. The Seeker's Path is where you will try to unite…the turmoil, the rift, and the fraught line between two sects of races. Those are the…mice, otter, squirrels, badgers, shrews, moles and their kind, which are…dubbed 'good beasts'. Then there are foxes, rats, stoats, ferrets, weasels and their kind which are dubbed 'vermin. These are the usual standards set by 'good beasts'. But the truth…is that they, or we, should I say, were not born evil, but made evil by the…concepts that 'good beasts' have placed in us. Vermin is not the name for a race; it is an insult that has been stereotyped…upon us from our early, early predecessors. Sure there are evil vermin, but there are also good vermin and evil good beasts. Unfortunately…there are much more evil vermin than good vermin since that has been our culture, our belief, our standards, since…we were born. Your job is to stop that stereotyping and judge us as individuals'

"Now, I believe every word he said to me…and I think you should to. Keep this belief alive in you, so you will make a difference in the land of the living." And with that, Malik gave a final shudder and kneeled over, stone dead. A flood of blood spurted from his mouth to encase him in a puddle.

xxx

Author's Note: Now that chapter is actually more important than you think, though it took me about two weeks to write, since that scene with Malik's tale took way more than I expected. Now, I hope that wasn't too boring since with all the stories an d stuff, but there were a lot of material; covered in this chapter. But next chapter, it will liven up and you will see the outcome of the battle between the holt and Darion's army. Oh, and the other thing that I am working on besides this story is _The Purple Lightsaber _and you can check it out if you want too. One last note-you might have noticed that I put in less '…' because, frankly, I was getting tired of them. And I bet you were too.

Agent D: Hmm, well yes it's it going to be a war-fraught relationship but I'll have to say that there will be some "secret love crap" as you refer to it. Hope it won't be that annoying! So, I'm really pissing my pants to see how the whole Dyris/Cameron thing in _Orphen _turns out!

Grubswiper: Yo, what happened to _A Dibbun's Party_? Anyways, thanks for the review, short and sweet like always, eh?

Narfgirl: Yeah, but Darion doesn't really want to defeat the Lady, since she's her commander and all. Thanks for your review again, you rock!

Avelblue: Um, well first-I'd like to give you a huge THANKS for pointing out all that stuff and all, though, as you might have noticed, I haven't taken all your advice. Some I just think are better the way they are, no offense. Anyways, to your first review/reply: yes, maybe I haven't put it across to you yet, but I WANT Devanm to be sort of "cardboardy". I mean, since this is actually not a lack of personality, it is a unique personality when comparing him with characters that do have personality, at least that's what I think. And with the Maliana thing, well she isn't exactly into it, she was just traveling with the band for some time and went through all that religious-type stuff so she would fit in, cause all she really wanted to was get out of the desert with some company and protection, even though she is highly competent.

I mainly skimmed over your advice on chapter eight, cause I didn't really get it, but I ma going to be doing heavy editing in the story later on-this was just a sort of light editing to fix some immediate issues. And with the 'aroused' issue…dude, you know that the most common definition of aroused is 'awakened, alerted' stuff like that not wanting to have sex. And since nobody else complained about that, I'm juts gonna keep tit the way it is.

Mr. Nice Guy, The Flamer, and Jack: Hey where were Nice Guy and Flamer? Oh well, nice to see you back and in action. I seriously hope that my rating isn't cause of your sickness! Anyhow, I know I've brought this up, but I still think it would be pretty cool, if you got an account, even if not to write you'd have the option of doing signed reviews, C2 communities, favorites, a profile and all that stuff. Just an idea.


	10. Chapter IX

CHAPTER IX: BY THE MOONLIGHT

Auhtor's Note: OK, I know that lately, I haven't been updating that often, but I've been working on another story too, and plus I hardly have any free time during the week to write, so the weekends are my only outlet. And I'm usually busy then, too. Need I say more? Yeah, one more thing: the chapter title is what it is, because all the stuff takes place by night, so in other words, "By the Moonlight".

xxx

The inhumane sound just ripped out of her throat as Rani screamed.

She screamed. She screamed with all her lung's power, the shriek drifting on and on, and into the night.

She screamed, because in the end, screaming was the only thing she could do. The only thing left.

And she continued screaming as the dam beneath the holt burned, while her own holt's walls crumbled into ashes and blackened wood from the licking, biting, orange flames that danced across the timber and the across the river's currents, an exact reflection of the carnage.

The otters quickly took to the river, diving into the freshwater in an attempt to escape the flames, but quickly ending up peppered with arrows and spears from their ambushers.

Rani's eyes took this in, but her brain didn't, couldn't. She seemed to be the last otter left, a screaming, burning angel of the night. For she stood on the last piece of lumber still sticking out of the river, now covered in racing flames, who also reared their heads and feasted their mouths on Rani. Fire ran up and down her body, leaving behind clumps of blackened fur, peeling skin, and smoldering flesh.

Darion and his minions stepped out of their hiding place, behind a copse of trees, to watch the female otter. She screamed and screamed as the flames devoured her more, until, finally, her eyes glazed over and a fountain of blood erupted from her mouth and she kneeled back in death, falling back into the river that had been the grave for the rest of her Holt.

"We've killed them all, sir," saluted an infantry soldier, as he walked up to Darion.

Darion had been shaken by Rani's ordeal, but he did not let his emotions run free on his face, simply allowing a grim smile of content to grace his exterior. "Good…"

xxx

"Do you have an appointment with milord?" questioned the bulkier of the two guards barring the beast's way to Dorthin's tent. It was almost midnight and the guards' were getting suspicious of this cloaked, hooded figure that kept on seeking entrance to their leader.

The mysterious beast drew in another frustrated sigh and spoke again his low, icy-cold tone. "Myself thinks, that thou should not care whether myself has an appointment or myself does not. For the information myself carries, is so definitely urgent, that it will benefit thee's lord to hear it immediately." The creature gave a harsh rasp, signifying the end of his talk.

The loyal guards were not so easily put out. "Well, you'll just have to schedule an appointment and then you can tell this 'really urgent information' as you call it," one of the guards concluded.

The cloaked beast gave another rasp, this time of impatience and with an air of determination, he pulled of the hood of his cloak, revealing his face, and, bulling the stunned guards out of the way, he strode into the tent.

xxx

Ujan admired Collin's spartan hideout in the cliffs. It was so simple yet so perfect.

Long ago, either by some natural disaster or a slew of miners, a fissure had been carved in the craggy, sea-beaten cliffs. Whatever force it had been, either beast or nature, had continued its work, until the fissure had turned into a large, spacious chamber. Though the entrance was quite small and hidden to the eye (due to a slab of granite that served as a rough door and gave only thin cracks as evidence of the chamber beyond), inside, the mineral-studded walls stretched out to envelop quite a large space.

And this space was occupied with some basic furnishings (larders, closets, a mess table, a set of chairs, and some bunk beds) and Collin's troops.

As Ujan grudgingly accepted some frugal rations (a small bowl of assorted, edible woodland plants and a few mussels gathered from the nearby shore, along with a small flask of river water), he wondered at the diversity of Collin's small host of warriors. In all they numbered about four scores, but Ujan could tell these were all fighters well versed in the art of war and bloodshed, seasoned and skilled, the cream of the drop. But what surprised him most of all was how different each of them were. A good portion of them were females, all with stoic and harsh faces. And they were also a mix of the races-good beasts and vermin were joined together under Collin. But Ujan could tell that not all were willing to work cooperatively with their one-time nemesis. Collin was going to have problems on his paws soon. Big problems.

The stoat was interrupted out of his brooding by Collin himself. The ragged, but dignified mouse had tapped him on the shoulder twice and now asked a question that surprised Ujan.

"Would you like to be part of my army? I see we have a common enemy that is stronger than both of us."

Ujan opened his mouth to inform Collin of his allegiance to Hakemillion, but another thought occurred to him. Why not spin a web of treachery around Collin and his beasts, to slowly but steadily draw them into serving his Lord? He'd surely be rewarded by presenting him with eighty, hardy soldiers. But this plan needed careful planning. Before he made any direct moves he'd have to get all _his _troops back.

"Gladly, my friend," said Ujan. "But first, I have some soldiers of my own in Dorthin's camp. They're not the best of the best, but they're all decent fighters, and will help in a pinch. I propose we liberate them from that treacherous camp and bring them here, to bolster your forces."

Collin was taken aback by this proposal. But he recovered, and immediately a wide grin split his weathered features. He grasped Ujan's paw between his own and said:

"My friend, you are a greater blessing than I thought. You do not have to serve me-let us both work together as leaders. We are partners."

Ujan smiled on the outside, but in his mind he whispered to himself, _Not for long, mouse. Not for long._

xxx

It was long and arduous work, toiling to dig the grave with bare paws for every beast, from Lukas to Maliana, Devnam to Jarbell. Rocks stung their paws and soil blistered their skin. Fur was ripped off in chunks to insects and gravel alike. But they labored all night, their heart going out to Devnam. The squirrel had been silent since Malik had departed from their world. His face was set like stone, and, so far, not a single wisp of emotion had touched his features. Every beast's (even Maliana's) heart had gone out to him and they helped him dig out a final resting place for Malik.

Now, with earth plastering their raw paws, the beasts drew back from the trench, letting contented sighs whisper among the night breezes. Devnam turned around and with a swift pace, walked back to the smoldering ashes of the extinguished campfire. Along them, lay the deceased body of the ferret. Malik's face was drawn and tight. The skin beneath his fur was a pale alabaster, and the fur around his mouth was a ruby red, due to his convulsion of blood. His eyes were merely blank, staring orbs that seemed to apprehend Devnam as he approached the body. All these signs of death seemed to give Malik and the atmosphere around him a ghastly, spectral sensation.

Disregarding this, Devnam scurried forward and picked up Malik in his arms. He withdrew a roll of cloth from his pack and rolled the body into it. He walked back towards the waiting grave, his head held high and limbs erect in a solemn, sober manner. Without speaking, the other travelers stepped aside to let the squirrel pass through unhindered, and Devnam slowly lowered Malik's body into its eternal home.

He covered the body with soil, carefully and precisely. He then stood up (and after some searching of the nearby grounds), carried a large, flat stone to the mound. He placed it smoothly into the soil, like a gray flag.

"Here's a something that could serve as a chisel," said Wayak, stepping out from the shadows and handing Devnam a strangely formed piece of steel. Devnam stared at it curiously and asked in a harsh voice,

"Where did you get such a thing?"

Wayak shrugged. "Ah always am collecting oddities and whatnot, and savin' 'em in my pouch. They're a pleasure to find, and ye never do know when a one or another may have a use for them."

Accepting this explanation, Devnam set to work. Among the other beasts, there were a lot of muffled conversations going on, but the squirrel paid them no heed and carved away at his task.

When it was done, he stepped away and let the other admire his wok:

**Here lies a noble ferret, dubbed the name of Malik,**

**Who, though led a harsh life, toiled away his energies for Good,**

**In a dream that all beasts will not be separated and divided,**

**Stereotyped and categorized by race.**

**May we do all we can to fulfill his utmost desire.**

xxx

Scabiniel walked with his eyes in a turmoil of emotions and his head whirring with the new developments of his life. He was really at a dilemma: he understood the passion he felt for his "slave"-but, surely, she didn't. How could he make her fall for him? Even though, he would, of course, be a lenient master, there was a difference between her feeling thankful towards him, and her feeling love towards him.

He drew aside with a fellow general, the now-mutilated Radden Sikkan. It was really a wonder that the ferret still lived, was Scabiniel's opinion. His appearance was as a mummified, long-dead body, since bandages were placed all over his body, his left leg was in a cast and ice compresses were fastened to different body parts. His visible mouth was merely a thin slit, as the rest had been slashed off by Panias's last actions and hidden beneath layers of gauze dressing.

"Howja?" inquired Radden conversationally, his speech coming across as a harsh gurgle.

"Well enough," said Scabibiel in acknowledgement. "You?"

Radden managed a distorted grin. "Eh, as good as it 'an be, what with all t'is junk that be's a supposed to help me. Might as well w'ap me up in a blanket and call it quits. It'd help t'e bleeding just as muc', thank you!"

Scabiniel managed a rueful smile. "Yah…I'm pretty surprised you're still kicking."

Radden managed to give a nasal-sounding snort. "Hah! It 'ill take more t'an one h'otter to bring me to ete'nal rest. Though t'at h'otter did do a fine good job at trying."

The two broke off as they approached Hakemillion's tent, where their lord had summoned them for another generals' meeting. In a single-file line, they quietly made their way in. They were surprised to find themselves the only ones there besides Hakemillion himself-had Kabbin not arrived yet?

"Be seated, my subordinates." Hakemillion stepped forward, his robe swirling around his body. "I am most displeased that Kabbin is taking his sweet time arriving here. Why I have called this meeting is with the purpose to elect a fourth general, temporarily replacing Ujan, as I find that four generals rule the camp with more efficiency than three."

Digesting this new info, the duo of generals waited patiently for their partner to arrive. But Kabbin remained some place other, as minutes ticked by, until Hakemillion growled impatiently, "Go and find him, you morons. I need EVERY general here. Come on; hustle, hustle."

Brutally shunned out by their masters, the two departed in separate directions. Scabiniel decided to take a tour around his section of the camp before anyplace else. As he neared his own tent, he heard some muffled noise. Perplexed, he crept closer and he started hearing individual noises-drunken, wild laughs mixed with desperate, helpless, stifled screams. With an air of determination in his step, Scabiniel strode forward and ripped apart the cover flap, serving as an entrance, to his tent.

A startling scene greeted his wide eyes. Kabbin, obviously drunk, since cracked flagons of ale rolled about him, was proceeding to strip Scabiniel's slave and himself, with his paw clapped over her mouth. He was fraternizing with her in the worst way possible-he explored private areas with his paws and tongue, and forced her to undergo it, despite her frantic movements at escape.

Scabiniel took this all in with a burning, growing fury in his heart. "So that's where you were," he muttered black-heartedly, and strode forward in a fiery rage. Kabbin dimly (due to his consume of alcohol) turned his head upon the intruder…just in time to do something akin to a back flip, provoked by Scabiniel's kick which landed somewhere around his solar plexus.

Scabibiel continued with this attack, driving the heel of his hand into Kabbin's nose. A resounding crunch echoed around the tent, and blood gushed over the weasel's face. The force of the impact sent Kabbin's head careening into the hard ground, knocking him unconscious.

Scabibiel picked up the unconscious body, and with a mutter ("Wait until Hakemillion sees this") carried it out of the tent. But not before he turned back again and asked his slave in a tender, soft voice:

"Are you okay?"

The young fem, already beginning to redress, gave a shy nod.

"What's your name?"

She was startled by this close question and gathered her wits before replying.

"Miruna."

xxx

Dorthin was startled out of his reverie, by a shadow in the corner of his eye. Dorthin turned around in his chair to watch the hooded figure, which had, in fact, just pulled back its hood over its face. It had a decent amount of girth, stopping at the point of stocky. It was of height a good deal larger than average, but not quite a giant. Dorthin was surprised that his guards had let in an unknown stranger, and readied himself for trouble. He was about to call out for help when the beast addressed his immediate issue.

"Do not worry about thee's guards, they are merely in a temporary trance. Do not worry about thou's safety either, for I am not going to harm you. Far from it, I will present thou with information that will help thee try turning the tide in this war you have."

Dorthin leaned forward, interested. Did this beast tell the truth?

The mysterious guest continued. "Myself knows of a plan that Hakemillion has arranged to bring thou down from within. He has, as one of thee's advisor discovered, hidden various spies in thou's network of soldiers. However, in thou's check for the enemy, the distraction that was caused by one of the enemy allowed the others to get away."

Dorthin was now really interested. He thought he had gotten every beast, but it was possible that some could have slipped. His army was after a very large number.

"But myself knows the beasts that fooled thee's try," concluded the stranger.

"Really? Who, who?" asked Dorthin immediately.

The stranger put a gloved paw in his cloak and withdrew a scroll blotted with ink letters. "Myself has written down the beast's aliases," it whispered.

xxx

It was just after darkness had taken complete hold of the world that Darion and his soldiers returned to Fort Warflash. Loss of sunlight had pressed the veterans to lanterns and torches, as the moonlight was too skimpy.

Darion walked, satisfied, in front of his beasts. It had been a good night to stain his paws with blood. When that she-otter freak had burned, he had lost some of his wits at the sight, but now he had gathered them back, mentally punishing himself. He was a leader of bloodthirsty fiends-he couldn't afford to be that emotional. He may have been only nineteen seasons old, but he had grown up from that innocent babe that Naze had taken pity on and raised as his own. He was now a general of the Murdock Empire, a beast who reveled in blood and cruelty.

"We be's approaching the fort, sir," saluted a scout rushing up to Darion's side. The ferret acknowledged the beast with a nod and walked on. _What_, he pondered, _would the lady say on this?_ Surely even she couldn't complain!

He was still musing on this when he had entered the fort and walked up to the Lady, who had been waiting near the gate, watching him.

"Any enemy survivors?" she asked calmly. Darion shook his head.

"How may did we lose?" she continued.

"A dozen and a half," was the sharp reply. The Lady seemed to be in a trance until she spoke again.

"Not bad, not bad…in fact, quite good for a start." And she turned on her heel and walked back up the stairs to her chamber.

Darion, flabbergasted, turned to a nearby soldier and exclaimed, "I've probably done one of the greatest feats in 'vermin' history, and all she can say is, 'not bad'! Why, I'll give her 'not bad', what a…" Darion trailed off, still muttering under his breath mutinous thoughts.

xxx

"So when do we attack the camp, and rescue your soldiers?" Collin posed the question that had been gnawing on his mind. He was ready for battle, but he also didn't want to appear too rash in front of his new partner.

Ujan gave a gap-toothed grin. "Ain't no time like the present, matey."

Collin gave a nod in agreement. He was ready and itching to go. He turned back to his troops, ordering in a demanding voice, "Attention, every beast! We're moving outta here and into the heart of the enemy, Dorthin's camp, hisself. Ujan's beasts are on the outskirts of the camp, luckily. Though there be's a counter to that, there is. Ya see, they are on the outskirts of the camp, all right, only on the farthest side from us. So get-sey-self armed and ready, cause we gonna circle all the way around, make a nice loop, snug and tight and then _strike._" Collin spoke the last word with a ringing determination etched in his tone and his eyes bespoke of a beast that would go down fighting for his cause.

Five minutes later, Collin, Ujan, and their troops were ready for their mission. They were all clothed in black, for even though it was pitch black outside, there were sure to be some light sources around Dorthin's camp, and they wished to blend in as mere shadows in that predicament. They each had two straight knives, stuck in their linen belts, as weaponry-Collin didn't wish the weapons to be big and cumbersome like a sword, axe, spear, bow, or other. They had also brought a small canteen of water and a small pack of food, as Collin had envisioned a situation where they might be trapped somewhere and face starvation or dehydration. Besides this, they also carried some special items that Collin had somehow acquired: a vial of a blue powder, that when mixed with oxygen would explode and cause a big mushroom-like bubble of gas that would cover an escape; a scarlet-looking potion that would blank out any beast's memory; and a sound detonator, a small box, that when triggered would cause an extremely large amount of noise. Ujan seriously wondered about the original whereabouts of these items, and how Collin had come to acquire them.

With Collin leading the fore, and Ujan right behind him, the small militia crept forward, taking every opportunity available to conceal themselves behind shrubbery and any other kind of cover. They slowly inched their way around Collin's camp, keeping a safe distance until they reached a set of clustered tents, which Ujan pointed out.

"That's where my soldiers are," he whispered in Collin's ear, who signaled to his warriors, and they slowly crept forward.

They stopped a few meters before, where Ujan mouthed to the beasts behind him, 'Stay here. I will go and have and seek out my lieutenant first. Here give me some of those curious objects you have. Be ready when I come back.' After his wish was complied, with slow, creeping steps he made his way to the chief tent.

He was thankful that nobody saw him and that when he entered the tent he found Shabinya sleeping. He was extremely grateful to the divine powers, for if she had been awake, the vixen would have probably screamed and blown their whole cover away. He hoped all the others were asleep too.

He carried her out, heavily hoping that no beast beside Collin and their soldiers would see him. He was obliged to God that such an occurrence didn't happen. He went back to collect the other four scores of the spies.

Everything ran as smoothly as possible for the first three scores. Ujan had entered one of about the sixtieth tent, when a scream issued from behind him. He whirled around and his heart almost leapt out of his heart.

Shabinya had awoken to find herself in strange beasts' paws. She had issued such a shrill scream that if there had been a rockslide from the cliffs to the other side of the camp, Ujan wouldn't have been surprised. There had to be at least some of Dorthin's beasts that had heard the scream, if not all. Sure enough, a rumbling noise rolled though the camp-the undistinguishable stamping of paws and screams of bloodshed. They didn't know who had disturbed their sleep, but the wait wouldn't be long.

"Forget the others!" shouted Ujan to Collin and the soldiers. "Let's get out of here with our hides still intact!"

It was too late for an all-out flee. The enemy had arrived.

xxx

Agent D: Man, I haven't heard from you in a while; you still kicking at your stories? Well, I hope there weren't TOO many human characterizations in my chapter. Anyhow, thank you for the compliments and that you are enjoying the story, thus far.

Avelblue: Yeah, I know it was way too convenient for Malik, but I sort of wanted a dramatic ending, instead of just him ending the story and then the chapter ends. And I just sort of wanted to shock my readers a bit with Malik's injuries and all. Maybe it was a bit too…yeah, that. And for the Life/Seeker's path-I'm still working on the ideas for that stuff, I just presented it this way for the time being-I'll probably edit it and all. And this won't be the last you've seen of Malik and Romsca (Foreshadowing alert…dun, dun, dun).

Oh, and Darion's role of killing woodlanders plays a greater role than you would think. Seriously though, he is going to cause a LOT of bloodshed. And making people care about Rani…I tried to do a sort of scene like that in the beginning of the chapter (NORT stands for Northern Otter River Tribes, or something like that **not sure**, and it was mentioned in a couple of books). Oh, and if you don't mind I'll make an additional request of you for this review: You can still do the scene-by-scene thingy, but I would sort of like, if after that, that you could sort of comment on different aspects of the story, like characters, plot, prose, stuff like that. And, really, what do you think this story should be rated? I started out with a 'T' just to be safe, but I don't want to exaggerate or anything, and I'm a pretty bad rater, really.

Grubswiper: Hey, no problem. Well my updates have been kind of slow, but I hope you enjoy this chapter nevertheless.


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